IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


2.2 

B40    1 2.0 

M 


1^  Mi   i 


L25  illllU   IIIIII.6 


m^y 


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Photographic 
Sciences 
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rj  WEST  MAIN  STPCE7 

WIBSTKR.N.Y.  I4SS0 

(71«)872-4503 


CmM/ICIVIH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


© 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


O^ 


T«chnie«l  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notat  tachniquaa  at  bibllographiquaa 


Th 
to 


Tha  Inatltuta  haa  attamptati  to  obtain  tha  boat 
original  copy  avallabia  for  filming.  Faatura«  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  bibliographically  uniqua. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tha  imagaa  in  tha 
raproduetlon,  or  which  may  aignlflcantly  changa 
tha  usual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chackod  balow. 


D 


D 
D 


D 


Coiourad  -sovars/ 
Couvartura  da  couiaur 


□   Covars  damagad/ 
Couvartura  andommagia 

□   Covars  rastorad  and/or  iaminatad/ 
Couvartura  raataurte  at/ou  palllculAa 

□   Covar  titia  miaaing/ 
La  titra  da  couvertui 


couvartura  manqua 

naps/ 
Cartas  gtegraphiquas  an  couiaur 

Coiourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  biua 

Encra  da  couiaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  biaua  ou  noira) 


I     I   Coiourad  maps/ 

r~~|   Coiourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  biua  or  black)/ 


r~~|   Colojrad  piatas  and/or  illustrations/ 


D 


Planchas  at/ou  illustrations  an  couiaur 


Bound  with  othar  matarial/ 
Rail*  avac  d'autras  documents 


Tight  binding  may  causa  shadows  or  distortion 
along  intarior  margin/ 

La  raiiura  sarrAa  paut  causar  da  i'ombra  ou  da  la 
distortion  la  long  da  la  marga  IntAriaura 

Blank  laavas  addad  during  rastoration  may 
appaitr  within  tha  taxt.  Whanavar  possible,  thasa 
hava  baan  omittad  from  filming/ 
il  sa  paut  qua  cartainas  pagas  bianchas  aJoutAas 
lors  d'une  rastauration  apparaissant  dans  la  taxta, 
mais.  iorsqua  caia  4tait  possibia,  cas  pagas  n'ont 
pas  At*  fiimAas. 

Additional  commants:/ 
Commantairas  supplimantairas: 


L'instltut  a  microfiimi  la  malllaur  axamplaira 
qu'll  lui  a  4t4  possibia  im  sa  procurar.  Laa  dAtaila 
da  cat  axamplaira  qui  aont  paut-Atra  unlquaa  du 
point  da  vua  bibliographlqua.  qui  pauvant  modlflar 
una  Imaga  raproduita,  ou  qui  pauvant  axigar  una 
modification  dans  la  mithoda  normaia  da  fiimaga 
sont  indlqute  ci-dassous. 


I     I   Coiourad  pag«s/ 


n 


Pagas  da  couiaur 

Pagas  damagad/ 
Pagas  andommagtes 

Pagai!  rastorad  and/oi 

Pagas  rastaurAas  at/ou  palllcuites 

Pagas  discolourad,  stainad  or  foxa« 
Pagas  d*color4as.  tachatias  ou  piquiaa 

Pagas  datachad/ 
Pagas  ditachtes 

Showthrough> 
Transparanca 

Quality  of  prin 

Quaiiti  inigaia  da  i'imprassion 

Includes  supplementary  matarii 
Comprend  du  material  supplAmantaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  idltion  diaponibia 


nn  Pages  damaged/ 

|~~|  Pagai!  restored  and/or  laminated/ 

r~|  Pages  discoloured,  stainad  or  foxed/ 

rn  Pages  detached/ 

rri  Showthrough/ 

r~n  Quality  of  print  varies/ 

I     I  Includes  supplementary  material/ 

r~|  Only  edition  available/ 


Tf 
pe 
of 
fii 


Oi 
be 
th 
si< 
ot 
fir 
si< 
or 


sh 
Ti 
wl 

M 
dii 
er 
be 

rl( 
re 
m 


Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  ref limed  to 
(vnsure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Lea  pages  totaiament  ou  partialiement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuiilet  d'errata,  una  peiure. 
etc.,  ont  it*  fiimies  k  nouveau  de  fa9on  A 
obtenir  la  maiiieure  imaga  possible. 


This  item  is  filmed  at  the  rediiction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  tauit  de  rAduction  indiqui  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


7 


12X 


1IX 


20X 


26X 


30X 


24X 


28X 


32X 


lils 

lu 

Jifiar 

iag« 


The  copy  filmed  here  ha*  been  reproduced  thanks 
to  the  generoeity  of: 

D.  B.  Waldon  Library 
University  of  WMtarn  Ontario 

The  images  appearing  here  are  the  best  quality 
possible  considering  the  condition  and  legibility 
of  the  original  copy  and  in  keeping  with  the 
filming  contract  specifications. 


Original  copies  in  printed  paper  covers  are  fiimecf 
beginning  with  the  front  cover  and  ending  on 
the  last  page  with  a  printed  or  Illustrated  impres- 
sion, or  the  back  cover  when  appropriate.  Ail 
other  original  copies  are  filmed  beginning  on  the 
first  page  with  a  printed  or  illustrated  Impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printed 
or  illustrated  impression. 


L'exemplaire  film*  fut  reproduit  grAce  A  la 
gAnirositA  de: 

D.  B.  WaMon  Library 
University  of  Western  Ontario 

Les  images  suivantes  ont  At6  reproduites  avec  ie 
plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  ia  condition  et 
de  la  nettet6  de  l'exemplaire  film4,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fllmage. 

Les  exemplalrer  originaux  dont  ia  couverture  en 
papier  est  ImprimAe  sont  fiimAs  en  commenpant 
par  Ie  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  ia 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iiiustration,  soit  par  Ie  second 
plat,  salon  ie  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exempiaires 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commer.^ant  par  la 
premlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'iiiustration  et  en  terminant  par 
ia  dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  — >»■  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  suivante  apparattra  sur  la 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  ie 
cas:  ie  symbols  — »>  signifie  "A  SUiVRE",  Ie 
symboEe  V  signifie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc.,  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  These  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  dtre 
filmAs  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  Ie  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  cliche,  il  est  filmd  d  partir 
de  Tangle  sup6rie:ir  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  Ie  nombre 
d'images  nAcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


ata 


Mure, 


3 

2X 


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2 

1 

i 

3 

i,      % 

2 

3 

, 

, 

^  #   : 

S 

6 

THE 


HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH: 


A.  KOM^N"CJi;, 


BY    WILLIAM    McDonnell. 

AUTUOB  OF  "  EXKTEU  HALL,"  ETC..  BTC. 


SECOND    EDITION. 


NEW    YORK: 
PUBLISHED    liY    D.    M.    BENNETT, 

335    BUG  AD  WAY. 
1875. 


0  4  i  c:  i 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Oon,?resa  ,« the  year  ,874.  b, 

WILLIAM  McDonnell. 

'°  ""  *""'•■''  °' '""  I-'"™"-"  <"  Con^roBS,  at  Wa»hl„«,„„. 
tAIl  riBhts  reserved.! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


CHAPTER   I, 


PBMDELL  OHUROH. 

FN  the  waning  light  the  old  church  rose  with  its  Ivied 
-*-  drapery  above  the  surroandlng  trees,  and  its  ancient 
tower  still  stood  proudly  erect,  as  if  to  over-top  the  range  of 
northern  hills  by  which  it  was  sheltered.  The  iron  bird 
long  perched  over  the  same  turretod  structure,  was  now 
immovable  in  the  calm  sky ;  it  gave  no  indication  to  the 
waiting  mariner,  and  from  its  elevated  pivot  in  the  motion- 
less air,  it  looked  towards  the  slumbering  ocean  on  the 
south,  as  if  intently  watching  the  gradual  disappearance 
of  some  distant  sail. 

How  many  centuries  must  have  passed  since  the  deep 
foundations  of  that  old  grey  edifice  were  laid ;  how  many 
generations  must  have  been  swept  away  since  the  first 
huge  stones  of  Pendell  Church  were  buried  in  the  earth ! 
It  waa  a  venerable  pile  that  seemed  to  link  the  present 
with  antiquity.  For  the  last  two  or  three  hundred  years 
men  had  been  wondering  at  its  great  age ;  it  appeared  to 
have  gradually  risen  from  the  enriched  soil  and  veruant 
surface,  and  as  the  mysterious  up-growth  of  piety,  to  have 
escaped  the  ravages  of  time,  in  order  to  mark  one  sacred 
spot  to  which  various  and  successive  races  of  men  had 
come,  through  emotions  of  love  or  fear,  to  exhibit  forms 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  faith  and  worshii)  in  song  of  praise  or  bloody  sacrifice ; 
and  stout  buttress,  massive  wall,  and  lofty  tower,  still 
clutched  the  solid  earth,  as  if  determined  that  their  union 
should  last  forever. 

What  a  strange,  strange  history  has  this  Pendell  sanct- 
uary ;  what  varied  scenes,  what  dark  intrigues,  what  holy 
strife,  and  what  sad  events  were  enacted  within  and  around 
its  very  walls!  Yet  there  it  stood,  the  mute  record  of  lit'o 
and  death ;  and  from  that  same  sad  record  tales  of  sorrow 
and  rejoicing,  and  of  revenge  and  blood,  were  told  by 
mossy  rock. or  at  the  winter  fireside,  by  old  men  who  hud 
licard  the  same  legends  from  their  grandfathers ;  and  tra- 
ditions of  superstition,  intolerance  and  devastation,  were 
related  as  incidents  of  that  same  dark  history. 

Those  singular  traditions  taught  also,  that,  long  before 
Druidical  worship  was  known  in  Britain,  certain  mission- 
ary tribes  from  a  remote  land,— from  India,  from  Egyi)t, 
or  from  Persia, — had  erected  huge  stones  around  the  very 
site  of  Pendell  church,  and  its  enclosed  graveyard ;  and 
the  3pace  that  was  now  nearly  covered  with  mossy,  crumb- 
ling tombs,  and  w'th  graves  almost  hidden  in  the  long, 
rank  grass,  was,  perhaps,  once  included  in  the  "sacred 
circle,"  within  which  religion  was  inculcated  by  strange, 
mysterious  ceremonies,  either  in  worship  of  the  triad  of 
Brahma,  Vishnu,  and  Siva,  or  of  Osiris,  Isis,  and  Horus,  or 
by  the  Persian  or  the  Parseo,  while  bowing  before  the 
effulgent  Sun  in  adoration  of  the  great  Ormuzd ;  and  then 
in  the  course  of  time,  when  these  and  other  deities  had 
been  superseded,  Woden  and  Thor  had  here  their  votaries ; 
and  here,  too,  beneath  the  shadow  of  some  ancient  oak, 
once  stood  the  Druidical  altar,  its  white-robed  priest  and 
his  devout  attendants. 

Though  the  idea  of  a  supreme  power,  or  of  a  future 
state,  has  not  been  universal,  yet,  from  the  beginning, 
from  our  earliest  knowledge  of  the  remote  past,  we  find 
that  man,  in  almost  every  clime,  has  been  a  w  orshiper. 
With  rare  exceptions,  almost  every  tribe  or  nation  has 
paid  homage  to  some  great  superior,  either  real  or  fancied. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


t 


Some  have  seen  the  placid  smile  of  deity  in  the  early  sun- 
beam ;  others  have  trembled  to  hear  his  angry  voice  in  the 
midnight  tempest ;  but  man's  noblest  emotions  have  over 
been  awakened  while  acting  in  submission  to  that  control 
ling  power  which  his  imagination  has  depicted  as  being 
the  most  beneficent.  A  compassionate  deity  has  always 
been  more  beloved  than  the  Omnipotence  which  has  been 
represented  as  jealous  and  revengeful ;  and  if  man  truly 
"paints  himself  in  his  god,"  the  liberality  or  intoieraueo 
of  a  people  may  be  assumed  according  to  the  character  of 
the  deity  they  are  known  to  reverance. 

The  first  simple  worshipers  at  Pendell,  in  the  fulness  of 
their  gratitude,  gathered  the  most  beautiful  flowers,  which 
they  might  have  fancied  as  being  the  plumage  of  angels 
wings,  and  presented  them  as  a  thanks  offering  to  their 
kind  genii;  others  brought  forth  the  rich,  ripe  fruit  to 
Biidha,  or  to  Isis ;  while  suppliants  to  a  deity  more  stern 
and  exacting,  offered  their  weapons  and  their  animals; 
and  frantic  votaries,  eager  to  propitiate  some  incensed 
god,  lacerated  their  own  flesh,  or  shed  the  blood  of  the 
human  victim,  or  bade  the  mother  give  her  infant  to  the 
flames ;  and  when  it  was  considered  urgent  to  appease  the 
anger  of  a  furious  deity,  holocausts  of  human  beings  were 
remorselessly  offered. 

But  then,  with  the  flight  of  time,  the  gods  of  India  and 
Egypt,  and  Persia,  were  forsaken,  and  on  came  the  con- 
quering Eoman  into  Britain  with  his  chief  divinities,  and 
with  his  Lares  and  Penates.  He  gradually  undermined 
the  Druidical  altar,  and  erected  the  statue  of  Jupiter ;  and 
then,  long  after  the  ancient  Celtic  worship  had  been  set 
aside,  as  connected  with  the  national  faith,  Constantino 
came  and  dethroned  the  Roman  gods ;  he  brought  back 
the  cross,  a  symbol  which  had  been  venerated  by  the 
nations  of  antiquity ;  he  compromised  with  the  heathen  : 
much  of  the  creeds  and  many  of  the  rites  of  paganism  were 
incorporated  into  the  new  faith,  and  in  time,  after  the 
statue  of  Jupiter  at  Rome  had  been  ponliflcally  blessed  and 
meiamorphosed  by  the  Church  into  the  veritable  statue  of 


8 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


^■' 


the  apostolic  Petor,  many  of  the  groat  old  standirip  stones 
of  the  "suored  circle,"  or  "  giants' danco,"  at  Pendell,  were 
tumbled  down  to  form  tlie  foundation  of  its  veicrable  Chris- 
tian sanctuary. 

Now  in  the  soft  eve,  while  the  red  light  faintly  lingers 
in  the  west,  while  there  is  a  hush  on  earth  for  departing 
day,  and  a  calm  in  heaven  as  the  vesper  star  appears ;  now 
when  the  feelings  are  subdued  and  solemnized,  let  imagi- 
nation bring  back  some  of  the  scenes  and  characters  con- 
nected with  the  old  church  of  Pendell.  Though  centuries 
have  passed,  it  seems  but  yesterday  since  there  was  hero 
scon  a  grand  procession  of  priests,  monks,  and  other  vota- 
ries, headed  by  mitred  bishops  and  lofty  dignitaries.  Tlioy 
came  to  consecrate  this  building,  erected  in  place  of  the 
primitive,  wooden  cathedral  built  by  the  semi-pagans  of 
the  early  Saxon  times;  to  bless  the  earth  destined  to 
receive  the  bodies  of  the  deceased  faithful,  and  to  anathe- 
matize the  incorrigible  who  still  remained  outaide  the  pale 
of  the  true  church.  The  simplicity  of  paganism,  and  of  the 
primitive  form  of  Christian  worship,  had  been  gradually 
eclipsed  by  a  brilliant  and  ostentatious  ceremonial,  and 
here  was  a  religious  display  in  keeping  with  the  increasing 
power  and  assumi>tion  of  the  priests  of  the  new  national 
faith.  Onward  moved  the  mitred  ecclesiastics ;  crosses  and 
crosiers,  and  spangled  vestments  glitter  in  the  sunliglit, 
and  the  silver  censors  flash  in  the  clear  air  as  they  are 
swung  to  send  out  the  fragrant  incense ;  strains  of  music 
reach  the  ear,  and  as  the  procession,  in  all  its  religious 
pomp,  winds  slowly  around  the  sacred  edifice,  a  hundred 
devotees  kneel  on  each  side  of  the  advancing  dignitaries, 
v;hile  a  crowd  of  others  follow  in  the  attitude  of  humble 
reverence. 

The  grand  circuit  is  thrice  made ;  the  ground,  oft  moist- 
ened with  the  blood  of  religious  victims,  has  now  been 
sprinkled  only  witn  the  sacred  water  of  the  church.  The 
procession  re-enters  the  building,  but  all  do  not  follow. 
Some  from  the  jrowd  hurry  off  to  a  little  distance,  from 
which,  perhaps,  to  view  another  ceremony— there  is  to  be 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH.  f 

another.  Over  a  hundred  years  before  that  time,  when 
barbarous  Saxon  priests  mot  liero  to  dedicate  the  first  rude 
Christian  church  in  the  Pendeii  valley,  the  religious  in- 
stinct of  the  period  led  them  to  require  a  sacritice,  and 
one  of  the  remaining  Pagan  priests  of  Britain  was  piouHJy 
slaughtered,  as  a  peace  offering,  a  short  way  beyond  the 
(christian  altar.  Alas!  that  that  sacrificial  instinct,  so 
foreign  to  humanity,  should  have  become  hereditary  in  the 
Christian  Church  I 

.  Again  the  procession  moves  out  slowly  from  the  building ; 
it  is  now  headed  by  a  score  of  tonsured  monks  with  bare 
feet.  Their  coarse  gowns  are  tied  around  the  waist  by  a 
kind  of  rope;  each  monk  holds  a  small  wooden  cross,  and 
between  the  two  £tout  brethren  In  advance  there  limps  a 
dccrepid  man  whom  they  aiB  leading  towards  that  great 
lone  standing  stone  near  the  highway.  The  old  man  is 
one  of  the  irreclaimable  children  of  Abraham ;  he  believes 
only  in  Moses  and  the  prophets— not  in  Christ.  Though 
hated  and  despised,  one  more  chance  of  recantation  had 
been  offered  him  by  the  mercy  of  the  Church,  but  he  was 
true  to  tlie  tradition  of  his  fathers— that  offer  had  been 
rejected ;  and,  now,  as  one  of  the  polluted  race,  he  is  de- 
creed unworthy  of  life.  See!  they  have  chained  him  to 
the  great  stone ;  the  sturdy  monks  pile  up  the  fagots  that 
seem  to  thirst  for  flame.  The  mitred  bishops  and  the 
priests  and  their  pliant  followers  stand  reproachfully 
before  him,  and  while  the  grey-haired  Jew  Is  terrified  by 
curses  and  denunciations,  he  is  told  to  kiss  the  cross  which 
is  held  towards  him.  The  old  man  is  weeping,  but  that 
cross  is  an  idol  to  him,  and  he  turns  aside  his  head.*  A 
resolute  monk  thrusts  it  into  the  victim's  mouth ;  the  tears 
and  blood  of  the  old  man  mingle,  but  none  can  pity.  In 
fierce  haste  the  torch  is  applied,  and  as  the  flames  leap  up, 
the  shouts  and  imprecations  of  the  furious  crowd  drown 
the  groans  of  the  feeble  sufferer. 

In  a  few  minutes  more  the  last  anathema  is  uttered,  and 


♦Giordano  Bnmo  who  wns  burnt  by  the  DomlnlcanH  at  Rome, 
ref  uued  to  kiss  a  uruuillx  lield  out  to  him  for  that  yuritoHe. 


10 


THE  HEATIIENH  OF  THE  HEATn. 


whilo  the  monks  remain  to  too(]  tho  flivmos,  and  prevent 
any  chance  of  rescue,  bishops,  priests  and  people  return  to 
tho  church.  A  number  of  sacred  relics  are  to  be  enshrined 
—a  piece  of  the  true  cross,  a  nail,  tlie  beard  of  an  apostle, 
and  the  bones  of  a  martyr,  are  cMsplayed  before  the  won- 
dering faithful,  and  then  deposited.  The  fragrant  incense 
enters  the  silver  shrine,  and  again  clouds  tho  lighted  altar ; 
a  Te  Deum  is  sung,  the  benediction  is  pronounced,  and 
tho  consecration  of  Peudell  church  is  completed.* 

•  Tho  vonoratinn  for  rollns  In  tho  Churnh  of  Rome  is.  amonflr 
many  of  On  mllioronts,  oh  ttrrnX  as  ovor.  Tho  following  extract  ie 
from  a  Canadian  papor,  Uatotl  St^pt.  '2ii\,  IS'.I. 

"  Relics  pou  St.  Michakl's  Catuedual.— An  unusual  ovont  took 
plafo  yostonlay  aft»«rnoon  In  St.  Miijhanl's  Catiindral,  boint;  tho  depo- 
sition of  curtain  rollcs  under  ono  of  tho  altars.  Tho  remains  are 
roputod  to  bo  thorto  of  Saint  Vliitonfonoof  lo/joa  soldiors  of  tho  Empe- 
ror  Dl.»fl<»tian,an<i  (!ommandnd  by  Saint  Zono.  Those  soldiers  refus- 
ed to  sacrillco  to  tho  Rods  of  hoathon  Rome,  and  wcro  put  to  duath, 
aftor  forced  lobor  at  tho  Baths  of  Dioelotlan  for  sovon  years.  The 
bodies  wore  buried  at  Tre  Fontani,  where  it  Is  bdievod  St  Paul  had 
sufTored  martyrdom  under  tho  Eniporor  Noro.  His  Grace,  tho  Arch- 
bishop, whilo  on  his  Into  visit  to  Rome,  procured  those  romains  to  bo 
placod  under  an  altar  in  the  Cathedral  for  tho  veneration  of  the  Cath- 
olics. The  relics  wore  beautifully  encased  In  wax.  A  solemn  pro- 
cossion  was  formed  in  the  garden,  tho  body  of  the  martyr  being  borne 
by  a  train  of  the  clur»;y  in  full  ecclestastical  vestments,  and  by  them 
deposited  In  its  resting  place.  After  vespers  a  brief  history  of  the 
life  of  this  Saint  was  given  by  tho  Rev.  Archdeacon,  and  the  ceremony 
closed  with  ihu  benediction  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament  " 


m 


CHAPTER    II. 


CHRISTIAN   IIAUMONY. 


TN  past  times  when  the  Chunh  was  all  powerful,  when 
•*-  it  miglit  be  said  there  was  but  one  true  church  in  all 
Christendom;  when  no  important  disputes  occurred  on 
doctrinal  points,  but  when  loud  and  bitter  dis(nissions  took 
place  on  the  j?rave  question  of  liow  priests  and  monks 
should  shave  their  heads,  o  wear  the  tonsure;  when  not 
more  than  one  book  mij^ht  be  foun<l  in  a  parish,  or  not 
more  than  one  man  who  cuuld  read  it ;  when  many  pre- 
lates could  not  even  write;  and  when  priests,  monks  and 
friars  roamed  as  bepj^ars  or  as  robbers  through  a  hungry 
land;  when  nearly  all  of  the  baptized  faithful— slaves  or 
freemen— grew  up  to  bo  ignorant,  brutal,  and  ferocous; 
and  when  the  legitimate  business  of  kings  seemed  to  bo 
but  wanton  rapine  or  murder;  when  Christian  nations 
were  most  faithless,  when  Christian  men  and  women  were 
most  faithless,  and  wlien  Christian  priests  were  most 
numerous,  and  who,  though  not  licensed  to  shed  human 
blood,  might  yet  follow  armies  and  stalk  through  the 
battle  fleld,  and,  with  iron-headed  mace,  dash  out  th(^ 
brains  of  wounded  enemies;  and  when,  also,  f<»r  the  com- 
mission of  even  petty  offences,  gashed  and  mutilated 
creatures  could  be  found  iilmost  helpless  in  every  corner 
of  the  land;  in  these  dark  times  (when  such  was  the 
condition  of  affairs)  what  was  the  restraining  influence  of 
the  TuuE  CuuiicH?  Amid  all  the  piety  and  terror  wIkui 
op  ression  was  the  rule,  there  was  the  added  terror  of 
invasi  )n.    Shortly  after  the  conse  ration  at  Pendell,  the 


m 


1% 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Ills 


li( 


;!!i 


warlike  Danes  carre  and  almost  destroyed  its  sanctuary. 
The  abbot  was  slain  on  its  altar  steps,  and  monks  lay 
bleeding  and  dead  in  and  around  the  building.  The  Danes 
returned  once  more  to  renew  their  acts  of  spoliation  and 
sacrilege.  They  again  plundered  this  church,  slaughtered 
its  cowled  monks,  and  robbed  and  burned  their  monastery ; 
and  Danish  and  Saxon  priests  long  continued  in  fierce  and 
bloody  struggles  for  secular  and  ecclesiastical  possession ; 
and  when,  ai  r  many  years  of  brutal  strife,  the  great 
Saxon  revenge  was  taken  on  St.  Brice's  day,  Danes  lay 
murdered  around  the  altar  of  this  very  church,  in  which 
they  had  sought  refuge. 

Then  there  was  another  invasion ;  the  Norman  came, 
and  Norman  prelates,  backed  by  victorious  hordes,  depri- 
ved Saxon  bishops  of  their  power ;  and  heedless  of  a  com- 
mon faith,  or  of  clerical  rights,  they  assumed  jurisdiction 
over  the  spiritual  and  temporal  resources  of  each  diocese. 
The  monastery,  which  had  been  restored,  and  which  once 
stood  near  this  old  church,  was  then  occupied  by  Benedic- 
tine monks  who  claimed  to  be  exempt  from  canonical 
obedience  to  the  foreign  ordinary,  and  who  resisted  the 
prelatical  authority  of  the  rapacious  Norman.  But  the 
priestly  invader  knew  his  power,  and  would  not  yield  his 
spiritual  plunder.  Appeals  to  Rome  were  completely  inef- 
fectual, and  after  much  fierce  contention  between  bishop 
and  monk,  the  abbot  was  rudely  deposed  by  the  stranger. 
But  the  monks  nad  their  ow  n  revenge.  The  Norman  prelate 
was  slain  at  midnight  at  the  entrance  of  the  sanctuary, 
and  his  body  long  lay,  among  others  of  the  consecrated 
dead,  in  one  of  the  many  stone  cofQns,  the  lids  of  which 
could  be  seen  level  with  the  tiled  floor  of  Pendell  church. 

Here  came  Peter  the  hermit  on  his  rounds,  and  here  his 
voice  was  heard  invoking  aid  for  the  Crusaders,  denounc- 
ing the  Saracens,  and  praying  for  the  delivery  of  Jerusa- 
lem ;  and  here  within  this  church,  many  a  candidate  for 
knighthood  kept  his  lonely  midnight  vigil  over  the  armor 
that  was  to  protect  him,  as  one  of  the  soldiers  of  the  Gross, 
in  distant  Palestine.    Aloa !  how  many  of  these  deluded 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


13 


champions  left  their  bones  to  bleach  and  crumble  upon 
the  arid  plains  of  Judea !  There  were  other  scenes ;  here 
too,  time  after  time,  the  faithful  were  amazed  by  wondrous 
miracles  performed  by  some  noted  Dunstan ;  and  by  way 
of  change,  monks  performed  scriptural  plays,  and  lashed 
the  representative  of  Judas  around  the  altar,  to  the  great 
delight  of  credulous  and  edified  spectators.  Here,  again, 
when  one  of  Wickliflfe's  wandering  disciples  recklessly 
dared  to  broach  his  heresy,  there  was  a  furious  commotion. 
The  indignant  priests  clamored  against  the  outrage  on  the 
ancient  Faith ;  the  common  doom  of  early  innovators  fol- 
lowed, and  the  fanatical  Lollard  lost  his  life. 

After  those  days  there  were  troublous  times.  One  of 
the  detestable  usurpers  whose  reign,  like  that  of  others  in 
Britain,  was  but  a  pestilence,  fancied  himself  almost 
free  to  govern  England  without  even  being  subject  to  the 
usual  dictation  of  the  overshadowing  power  of  Rome.  But 
pontifical  thunder  was  quickly  heard.  Pope  Innocent 
issued  his  interdict,  and  for  six  dreary  years  the  enduring 
subjects  of  king  John  were  deprived  of  almost  every  relig- 
ious rite.  While  the  English  despot  defied  and  feasted, 
and  while  priests  had  a  long  holiday,  the  poor,  suffering 
people  alone  felt  the  punishment.  No  church  bell  tolled, 
no  mass  was  heard,  no  altar,  or  cross,  oi  sacred  ima^e 
could  be  seen,  no  man  might  shave  his  beard  or  salute  his 
neighbor ;  the  dead  were  refused  consecrated  ground,  and 
were  tumbled,  without  a  prayer,  into  ditches,  hidden  in 
fields,  or  covered  up  along  the  highways.  Every  place  of 
worship  in  the  kingdom  was  closed,  and  nothing  in  hu- 
man shape  could  be  found  in  Pendeli  church,  except  the 
dead  monks  that  were  stretched  in  rows  down  in  its  gloomy 
vaults. 

But  who,  In  those  days,  could  withstand  the  anger  of 
the  Roman  pontiff  ?  The  craven  king  became  submissive, 
resigned  his  kingdom,  and  acknowledged  himself  the  vas- 
sal of  the  Holy  See.  Nothing  less  would  satisfy  God's 
vicoregent.  For  such  considerations  the  Church  could 
always  relent,  and  receive  back  into  its  bosom  the  most 


I 


u 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


■It 

'J; 


desperate  transgressor.  Yet,  though  the  Church  was  in 
plenitude  of  its  power,  there  was  alarming  wickedness  in 
the  land.  The  nation  seemed  debauched,  and  for  years 
the  moral  laxity  of  priest  and  layman  was  almost  over- 
looked in  the  prevailing  depravity  of  the  times ;  even  the 
Church  itself  became  infected,  and,  for  about  forty  years, 
rival  pontiffs  denounced  and  anathematized  one  another, 
either  from  Rome  or  from  Rimini,  from  Arragon  or  from 
Avignon.  However,  after  a  long  period  of  detraction, 
Religion  found  a  special  remedy  for  the  increased  trans- 
gressions of  the  times.  There  was  a  mountain  of  iniquity 
to  be  removed,  for  which  it  seems  the  ordinary  means  at 
the  disposal  of  the  church  were  considered  insuflBcient ;  a 
more  effective  spiritual  aid  was  required,  and  Tetzel  was 
sent  forth  to  proclaim  the  potency  of  indulgences,  and  to 
oiTer  pardon  and  purity  by  the  simple  purchase  of  these 
restoratives.  The  man  who  swore,  or  the  man  who  stole, 
he  who  robbed,  or  he  who  cut  a  throat,  knew  the  exact 
price  which  could  free  him  from  the  taint  of  guilt ;  and  the 
sale  of  these  indulgences  was  announced  also  from  the 
altar  at  Pendell.* 

Then,  during  the  progress  of  the  Reformation  what 
changes  took  place.  There  was  great  commotion  in  the 
land;  there  were  fierce  discussions,  and  nowhere  was 
Luther  more  heartily  execrated  than  here.  Soon  after, 
there  were  religious  riots  and  bloodshed,  nnd  in  the  hurly 
burly  which  followed,  priests  and  monks  had  to  flee  from 
this  place ;  and  pliant  pastors  took  possession ,  though  scenes 
of  the  wildest  strife  were  still  witnessed  in  the  house  of 
the  Lord.  Much  damage  was  done  to  the  building ;  the 
altar  was  pulled  down,  images  were  defaced,  and  relics 
scattered  about ;  and  when  the  voluptuous  Defender  of  tho 
Faith  had  full  sway,  many  of  those  who  could  not  acknow- 
ledge his  spiritual  supremacy,  and  many  who  believed  with 
Luth  r,  or  who  believed  in  the  Pope,  were  by  the  merest 

•  For  ninety  llvri^a.  or  about  half  a  gninoa,  Enerlish  money,  a  par- 
don oould  bo  i>ur<?ha3ed  for  the  murder  of  a  father,  a  mother,  or  a 
wife, 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


15 


whim  of  a  pious  tyrant,  made  amenable  to  the  '*  Bloody 
Statute,"  and  orthodox  and  heterodox  alike,  were  often 
led  together  to  the  stake  or  halter,  almost  under  the  shad- 
ow of  this  Christian  temple. 

During  these  eventful  times,  the  greatest  crime  of  which 
a  man  nould  be  guilty,  or  at  least  that  which  was  most 
certain  to  ensure  the  penalty  of  death,  was  his  belief  or 
disbelief  in  certain  religious  doctrines.  In  one  reign  a 
man  must  abjure  the  Pope  and  the  Keal  Presence,  in  the 
next  he  must  believe  in  the  Mass  and  in  transubstantia- 
tion,  and  the  facility  with  which  prelates,  priests,  and 
people  altered  their  opinions  on  such  subjects  to  suit  a 
fanatical  sovereign,  was  evidence  sufficient  to  lead  to  the 
conclusion  that  had  a  doltish  monarch  proclaimed  his 
faith  in  Mahomet,  five-sixths  of  his  servile  subjects  would 
have  trampled  on  the  cioss  and  kissed  the  crescent.  Cran- 
mer,  the  archbishop,  was  noted  for  his  instability,  and  for 
his  ready  adoption  of  extreme  doctrinal  points;  but  the 
reasoning  few  who  dared  to  have  a  creed  of  their  own, 
were  certain  to  be  doomed— even  recantation  could  not 
always  save.  The  religious  teachers  of  the  period,  Romish 
or  Protestant,  knew  no  pity.  Intolerance  was  triumph- 
ant ;  the  taint  of  heresy  was  the  very  shadow  of  death. 

However,  when  another  change  in  the  national  faith  had 
been  effected ;  when,  after  many  struggles  and  reverses,  the 
new  church,  with  its  royal  head,  its  zealous  bishops,  its 
sequestered  estates,  its  princely  income,  and  its  assured 
tithes,  had  been  established ;  when  the  possession  of  rich 
cathedrals  and  churches,  and  other  Popish  forfeitures,  had 
been  secured ;  when  Popish  prayers  and  Popish  liturgies 
had  been  sufficiently  diluted ;  and  when  these,  with  a  sim- 
plifled  ritual,  were  considered  adequate  to  secure  for  all— 
at  least  for  the  pastors— a  ready  passport  to  Paradise,  still 
many  pious  believers  were  restless;  greater  purity  and 
simplicity  in  faith  and  worship  they  thought  should  yet 
be  attained,  and  when  texts  could  not  convince,  the  torch 
and  the  sword,  as  of  old,  were  the  aids  often  most  relied  on 
to  propagate  new  doctrines  when  other  modes  of  persua- 


10 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


;.|i 


sion  had  failed.  At  this  time  some  differences  of  opinion 
which  had  existed  among  priests,  monies,  and  friars  of  the 
Boman  church  were  almost  forgotten;  the  deluge  of 
schism  appalled  the  stoutest  champions  of  the  older  creed, 
and,  while  taking  refuge  in  the  Pontifical  ark,  they  watch- 
ed the  rising  waters,  until  the  mighty  turbid  flood  burst 
its  bounds,  and  in  torrents,  rushed  off  madly  in  every 
direction,  and  almost  every  way- mark  of  the  "Mother 
Church"  was  swept  away,  and  there  appeared  to  them 
but  one  scene  of  wildness  and  moral  desolation. 

Soon  after  a  horde  of  sects  had  sprung  up,  each  claim- 
ing to  be  the  exponent  of  Truth ;  and  each  ready  to  perse- 
cute the  other.  The  Roman  church  had  been  despotic— 
the  Reformed  church  could  scarcely  tolerate.  Luther 
threatened  persecution ;  Calvin  did  persecute.  A  Protes- 
tant parliament  persecuted  Catholics;  and  priests  and 
Jesuits  had  to  flee  for  their  lives,  and  public  rewards  were 
offered  for  their  discovery.  Prelacy  was  attacked  by 
Presbyterians,  and  Presbyterians  by  Independents;  aTid 
Cromwell's  Roundheads  rushed  through  the  land  praying 
and  slaying;  and  here  at  Pendell  they  cut  down  many 
enemies  of  the  Lord.  They  also  tore  down  every  remain- 
ing relic  of  Popery  and  Episcopacy,  and,  while  wiping 
their  blood  stained  swords,  they  shouted  hosannas  and 
sung  psalms  in  this  old  sanctuary. 

But  these  wild  times  have  passed.  After  Cromwell's 
body  had  been  dug  up  and  dishonored  by  a  pious  king,  the 
Church  by  law  established,  calmly  prospered  under  the 
smile  of  royal  favor ;  and  if  it  has  had  to  deal  occasionally 
in  a  summary  manner  with  recusants,  and  dissenting 
teachers,  it  must  no  doubt  have  been  out  of  the  purest 
motives  for  the  extension  of  the  true  faith.  The  Church 
has  had  a  long  era  of  prosperity ;  it  has  been  singularly 
blest,  that  is  if  vast  wealth  is  emblematic  of  blessedness— 
and  if  its  learned  bishops  have  not  all  been  endowed  with 
spiritual  g'fts,  they  have,  one  and  all,  secured  those  tem- 
poral favors  which  enable  thorn  to  be  more  devoted  to 
their  high  calling;  proving  to  scoffers  that  godliness  is 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  H2ATH. 


17 


fcroat  gain,  and  that  the  feet  of  those  who  bring  glad  tid- 
iiit^s  are  ever  *'  beautiful  upon  the  mountains'" 

(Jrey  old  structure!  still  firm  upon  the  earth,  thou  art 
lit'le  changed  by  years— yet  what  changes  have  taken 
place  around  thee !  What  great  and  what  sad  events  have 
happened  here ;  and  what  great  ceremonies,  great  excom- 
munications, great  marriages,  and  great  funerals !  What 
shall  future  changes  bring?  Shall  there  be  a  gradual 
relapse  to  Brahma,  or  an  advance  to  Koason?  Thy  ton- 
sured priests  and  monks  have  passed  away;  even  their 
very  bones  have  not  been  left  thee.  No  vesper  bell  is 
longer  heard  at  eve,  no  mass  or  litany  is  sung,  but  strange 
voices  and  strai^e  anthems  tell  of  the  strange  creed  that 
has  almost  wrought  ruin  to  thy  founders.  There  is  an  air 
of  sadness  in  thy  presence ;  yet  many  still  hope  to  restore 
thy  lighted  altar,  and  to  crown  thee  with  thy  ancient  cross. 
These  hopes  may  be  realized,  for  who  can  tell  what  an 
ardent  faith  may  yet  accomplish  ? 

The  Pendell  valley  is  still  attractive,  and,  in  the  genial 
summer  season,  visitors  and  antiquaries  loiter  around  the 
place,  and  gaze  with  wonder  at  the  many  huge  standing 
stones,  and  at  the  curious  mounds  and  barrows  still  to  be 
found  in  the  vicinity.  The  church,  sturdy  in  its  old  age,  is 
still  the  principal  object  in  the  rural  picture,  and  even  but 
a  short  time  back,  few  ever  came  or  went  without  calling 
at  the  cottage  of  old  Sarah  Afton,  known  to  some  as  the 
Seeress ;  she,  past  her  eightieth  year,  could  relate  many  a 
weird  tale  of  the  olden  time.  Her  great-grandfather 
was  one  of  the  Pendell  martyrs.  She  could  show  the 
places  where  bloody  deeds  were  done,  and  point  to  the 
very  spot  where  some  humble  devotee,  Catholic  or  Protes- 
tant; had  died  for  the  truth.  And  then  she  could  tell 
startling  stories  of  those  dread  times;  she  could  also  tell 
of  how  shouts,  and  loud  cries,  and  shrieks  of  terror  of 
ghostly  combatants  could  be  hoard  around  the  church  on 
dark  and  stormy  nights,,  when  the  waves  lashed  the  rocks 
in  Pendell  bay;  and  how,  on  other  nights,  lights  could  be 
often  seen,  and  voices  heard  in  the  same  building;  and  it 


18 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATE. 


was  a  certain  fact  that  one  or  two  of  her  nearest 
neighbors,  coming  home  about  midnight,  heard  the  cocks 
crow,  and  saw  a  long  procession  of  monks  moving  out 
from  the  church,  and  then  march  with  solemn  tread  around 
the  graves.  And,  again,  she  would  tell  ©f  how  her  own 
sister's  grandson  had  seen,  in  the  bright  moonlight,  an 
ancient  Druid  priest  up  in  the  great  oak  tree  near  the 
church  yard  gate,  and,  that,  with  his  "own  two  eyes,"  he 
saw  him  cut,  with  a  golden  knife,  a  mistletoe  from  one  of 
the  highest  branches.  Old  Sarah  Afton  believes  these 
things  the  more  readily  because  of  what  she  had  seen  and 
heard  herself;  and  then  she  would  lower  her  voice  and 
tell  how,  on  many  and  many  a  night,  and  often  on  nights 
the  most  tempestuous,  when  no  living  mortal  was  inside 
the  old  building,  she  had  heard  the  church  organ,  now  in 
plaintive  stratus,  and  then  in  wild,  rushing  sounds,  as  if  to 
drown  the  thunder  then  heard  in  the  stormy  sky. 

But  now  'tis  the  close  of  day ;  the  moon  appears  again 
peering  cautiously  over  the  summit  of  that  distant  hill. 
The  trees  are  sprinkled  with  the  silvery  light ;  the  outlines 
of  the  sanctuary  are  barely  visible,  but  a  halo  settles  upon 
its  tower,  and  the  shimmering  ivy,  like  a  shroud,  is  seen 
flowing  down  its  dark  sides  A  luminous  beam  is  stretch- 
ing out  over  the  sombre  sea,  and  lone  rays  wander  among 
the  graves,  and  flicker  upon  the  numerous  white  tombs. 
In  the  spreading  gleam  the  two  small  tower  windows  shine 
out  like  flashing  eyes ;  and  the  old  church,  almost  hidden 
in  the  partial  gloom,  seems  to  crouch  down  among  the 
(lead,  like  some  glutted  monster  seeking  repose  while  sur- 
rounded by  the  whitened  skulls  and  bones  of  its  numerous 
victims. 


CHAPTER    III. 


THE    OUBATE  OF   PENDELL. 

TT  is  evenins:  again,  a  summer  Sabbath  eve.  The  hills 
^  are  crowned  with  the  glory  of  the  setting  sun,  and  in 
the  ruddy  golden  light  the  earth  seems  draped  in  its  most 
resplendent  attire ;  the  day's  farewell  is  as  peaceful  and 
attractive  as  the  smile  of  a  departing  angol. 

The  Reverend  David  Meade,  curate  at  Pendell,  is  seated 
in  his  arm  chair  on  the  lawn  in  front  of  the  old  parsonage. 
Though  surrounded  by  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  favor- 
ed valley,  he  seems  strangely  indifferent  to  its  attractions, 
or  they  may  have  prodvced  that  reverie  in  whicli  he  indul- 
ges. Leaning  his  head  upon  his  ivory-headed  cane,  he 
has  been  looking  down  for  some  minutes  at  that  daisy 
close  to  his  foot,  and  in  his  musing  he  has  wandered  back 
to  youth,  has  been  a  child  again  at  his  mother's  knee,  has 
been  again  at  school,  at  college,  at  his  ordination;  he 
again  receives  his  appointment  to  a  curacy,  and,  after  his 
marriage  and  the  varied  scenes  and  trials  of  over  forty 
years  since  that  event,  he  finds  himself,  after  the  hasty 
retrospect,  now,  in  the  decline  of  life,  still  a  curate— still 
only  a  poor  curate  at  Pendell. 

But  why  at  all  a  churchman?  Why  in  orders,— why  a 
priest?  Why,  with  all  his  doubts  and  speculations,  should 
he  be  a  curate?  His  father  had  been  one  before  him,  and 
he,  like  a  son  of  Aaron,  without  any  wish  or  effort  on  his 
part,  had  somehow  drifted  into  the  ministry— into  ii  [)osi- 
tion  which  his  mature  judgment  had  told  him  wns  m«>st 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


unsuitable ;  but  after  apostolic  hands  had  been  laid  upon 
liim,  thinking  it  too  late  to  recede,  ho,  even  contrary  to 
his  own  inclination,  had  remained  a  servant  of  the  Church, 
and  had  ever  since  been  trying  to  teach  or  explain  to 
others  that  which  he  sometimes  felt  he  did  not  clearly  un- 
derstand himself.  Still,  at  times  he  tried  to  feel  assured. 
Had  he  not  encouragement  to  submissive  belief  in  the 
example  of  learned  prelates  and  of  other  distinguished 
men?  He  strove  to  think  that  the  theological  opinions 
which  they  had  upheld  might  not  be  so  extravagant  as  he 
sometimes  fancied.  Any  way,  setting  aside  the  mysticism 
of  a  creed,  lie  often  satisfied  himself  by  thinking  that 
there  was  a  base  of  morality  in  revelation  from  which  he 
could  draw  supplies  to  benefit  his  hearers;  leaving  the 
many  perplexities  of  belief  to  semi-inspired  D.  D.s,  and 
imaginative  commentators.  He  had  little  difficulty,  how- 
over,  with  his  parishioners  at  Pendell ;  nearly  all  there, 
simple  and  gentle,  were  believers ;  hardly  one  ar.iong  them 
ever  harbored  a  doubt,  or  ventured  a  speculation  as  to  the 
validity  of  any  doctrine;  they,  like  most  others,  simply 
l)olicved  that  which  they  had  been  trained  to  believe  from 
infancy;  and  they  were,  therefore,  just  as  steadfast  in  the 
conviction  that  the  Pope  was  anti-Christ,  as  their  Catholic 
forefathers  had  been  that  he  was  the  august  head  of  the 
true  Church. 

The  Reverend  David  Meade  had  been  curate  of  Pendell 
for  over  thirty  years.  He  was  now,  fortunately  for  him- 
self, under  a  rector  who,  having  the  benefit  of  a  large 
income  arising,  somehow,  from  other  spiritual  sources,  as 
well  as  from  the  cure  of  souls  at  Pendell,  spent  much  of 
his  time  either  in  London  or  Paris,  or  on  a  periodical  tour 
to  certain  continental  cities.  Perhaps  these  visits  might 
have  been  made  by  the  Reverend  Rector  for  the  acquisi- 
tion of  greater  religious  knowledge,  or  in  order  to  witness 
the  various  developments  of  faith  in  different  countries, 
so  as  to  be  able,  if  possible,  to  understand  why  that  which 
was  called  "Apostolic  Truth,"  and  which  had  obtained 
g'jvernmeiir  patronage  at  St.  Paul's  in  Old  England,  should 


i 


III 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


91 


bf  denounced  as  rank  error  aud  anathematized  as  heresy 
ttl  St.  Peter's  in  Old  Rome.  And  tlien  in  the  semi-annual 
visit  which  he  made  to  Pendell,  ho  could  enlij,'ht»n  his 
curate  in  this  important  particular;  and  though  rather 
indifferent  as  to  what  latitude  might  be  taken  in  scriptural 
interpretation,  he  could  see  that  the  thirty-nine  articles  of 
the  English  Church,  had  been,  at  least,  outward!  y  respect- 
ed. The  Reverend  George  Morton,  as  rector,  was  faithful 
in  what  he  coiisidered  ""he  performance  of  his  parochial 
duties;  his  serai-annual  visits  were  regularly  paid,  he 
seemed  anxious  to  know  how  many,  young  or  old,  were 
prepared  for  the  important  rite  of  confirmation,  was  par- 
ticular to  get  correct  lists  of  marriages,  baptisms,  and  bur- 
ials, for  which  a  fee  had  been  given,  and  was  rather  strict  as 
to  the  collection  of  tithes  and  church  rates ;  and  for  these 
onerous  duties  at  Pendell,  or  rather  for  these  toilsome 
semi-annual  visits,  his  spiritual  income  was  over  £800- 
sterling.  But  all  this  was  not  clear  gain;  from  this 
amount  the  salary  of  his  curate  had  to  be  deducted,  and 
he  fancied  himself  truly  generous  by  consenting  to  increase 
the  stipend  of  Tr.  Meade,  his  journeyman  parson,  to  £60  a 
year. 

For  a  period  of  about  fifteen  years  under  a  former  rich 
rector,  who  had,  it  was  said,  "gone  to  his  great  reward," 
Mr.  Meade,  as  curate,  had  received  the  annual  allowance 
of  but  fifty  pounds,  and  being  simple  as  a  child  in  money 
matters,  he  really  thought  at  the  time,  that  the  additional 
ten  pounds,  with  free  use  of  the  old  parsonage,  was  almost 
a  sudden  rise  to  affluence.  He  therefore  gladly  consented 
to  remain  as  sub-pastor  and  spiritual  overseer  of  the  Chris- 
tian flock  at  Pendell,  and  to  perform  his  old  round  of 
duties— to  preach  twice  on  Sundays,  to  visit,  to  catechise, 
to  marry,  to  baptize,  to  attend  funerals,  and  to  do  all  the 
clerical  drudgery  of  the  parish ;  and  after  having  signed 
the  agreement  with  his  new  spiritual  superior,  he  hurried 
home  to  impart  the  joyful  information  to  his  family ;  and 
then  went  to  receive  the  congratulations  of  his  many  poor 
friends. 


THE  UEATIIENS  or  THE  HEATH. 


I  i 


t   M 


'!'!: 


About  three  years  uf tor  his  last  api  ointment,  Mr.  Meade 
lost  his  faithful  wife ;  this  aHliction  at  his  a.t?e  became  the 
darkest  cloud  over  his  remaining  hopes  of  earthly  happi- 
ness, but  a  daughter  was  left  him— a  flower  of  purity  and 
goodness— who  strove  to  make  his  declining  years  as  hap- 
py as  possible.  He  had  also  a  son  in  India.  This  young 
man,  Charles  Meade,  who  was  about  two  years  older  than 
his  sister,  had  been  rated  one  of  the  most  promising  yonii^j 
follows  in  the  country,  and  being  of  an  adventurous  dispo- 
sition, he  determined,  after  he  had  left  college,  to  see  tlio 
world  for  himself,  and  try  to  assist  his  father.  Had  ho 
submitted  to  ordination  as  his  father  had  done,  he  could 
have  remained  in  England,  and  might  have  had  a  curacy, 
and  perhaps  even  forty  pounds  a  year  to  begin  with,  but 
having  the  greatest  aversion  to  the  priestly  trade,  ho 
refused  to  eke  out  a  living  by  dealing  in  mysteries,  or  by 
assuming  clerical  pretensions.  He  might  have  had  suiTi- 
cient  influence  to  obtain  a  position  in  the  army,  but  ho 
looked  upon  the  profession  of  arms  as  barbarism,  and  upon 
so-called  military  glory  as  degrading  to  humanity ;  a  situa- 
tion, however,  offered  in  a  wealthy  mercantile  firm,  and 
with  strong  hopes  of  success  he  sailed  for  India. 

During  nearly  all  his  married  life,  the  Reverend  David 
Meade  had  to  struggle  with  difficulties,  and  while  it 
pinched  him  sorely  to  spare  sufficient  to  pay  for  the  educa- 
tion of  his  children,  by  great  self-denial  he  even  managed 
to  secure  for  them  accomplishments  which  few  but  the 
wealthy  could  obtain.  These  efforts  and  sacrifices  on  the 
part  of  himself  and  his  wife  now  brought  some  return. 
His  household  was  small,  being  comprised  of  himself,  his 
daughter,  and  one  old  servant.  Miss  Esther  Meade  was 
chief  controller  of  domestic  alTairs,  and  by  her  economy 
and  wonderful  management,  the  humble  stipend  of  her 
father  was  made  to  produce  home  comforts  not  exceeded 
in  many  more  pretentious  establishments.  She  was  also 
able  to  spare  sufficient  time  to  give  lessons  in  music, 
French,  and  drawing,  to  the  children  of  certain  families  in 
the  parish,  thereby  adding  to  her  father's  little  income  an 


THE  HEATUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


513 


amount  which  not  only  enabled  her  to  supply  sovcrul 
needs— even  at  times  luxuries— for  her  father  ami  herself, 
but  also  to  aid  many  of  the  pooi  and  destitute  of  her  own 
neighborhood. 

What  a  pity  that  poverty  and  human  wrotehcdness 
should  so  often  be  found  amid  the  attractive  beauties  of 
nature,  making  even  the  sunlight  almost  gloomy  to  many  I 
What  a  pity  that  the  human  eye  should  ever  give  a  dew  drop 
to  the  llower,  or  that  the  sigh  from  a  sad  heart  should  waft 
the  odor  from  the  rosel  What  a  pity  that  the  view  of  the 
rich  scenery  of  the  pleasant  Pendell  valley  should  bo 
looked  at  with  indifference,  because  gaunt  hunger  stands 
like  a  spectre  in  the  way.  Alas!  that  sad  spectre  is  too 
often  seen,  even  in  the  glowing  summer  time,  as  if  impa- 
tiently waiting  for  its  own  bleak  season,  dreary  Winter,  in 
order  to  take  possession  of  many  an  humble  dwelling. 

The  curate,  after  his  Sabbath  toil,  was  thinking  of  these 
things,  and  he  remembered  the  many  uncomplaining  poor 
he  had  seen  that  day  in  his  visits.  But  why,  thought  he, 
should  there  be  poverty  ?  why  so  much  distress  ?  Why,  in 
this  land  of  wealth  and  greatness,  should  there  bo  one 
solitary  instance  of  suffering  for  lack  of  food  ?  The  birds 
of  the  air,  and  the  fishes  of  the  sea,  have  their  abundance ; 
the  mountain  goat  finds  its  herbage  even  mid  rocks  and 
wastes ;  flocks  luxuriate  in  rich  valleys,  and  the  cattle  od 
a  thousand  hills  grow  fat.  Why  is  it  that  man  alone,  more 
than  any  other  of  God's  creatures,  should  be  compelled  to 
feel  the  pangs  of  hunger  ?  What  a  shame  that  humanity 
shouid  be  thus  degraded!  The  world  contains  ample 
stores  for  all ;  kind  nature,  willing  to  be  impai'tial,  is  lav- 
ish in  her  dealings,  and  yields  her  gifts  in  rich  profusion ; 
but  the  fair  and  equitable  distribution  which  she  intended 
is  interfered  with  by  too  many  of  the  selfish  and  rapacious, 
and  unheeded  by  too  many  of  the  wealthy  in  power.  This 
is  a  violation  of  natural  rights ;  for  where  all  the  children 
of  the  earth  are  equal  inheritors,  unequal  distribution  of 
the  patrimony  is  injustice.  A  few,  by  force  or  by  fraud,  or 
by  little  or  no  industry,  have  amassed  wealth,  and  possess 


11  ThK  HEAlUbNB  OF  TUK   HEATH. 

a  superabundanre  of  every  comfort ;  the  many  have  mostly 
to  exist  by  severe  toil,  and  suffer  great  deprivation.  A  few 
monopolize  the  ownership  of  the  very  land,  keeping  large 
tracts  unproductive;  while  a  vast  number  of  persons  can 
show  no  claim— unless  it  be  that  for  interment— to  a  single 
foot  of  the  soil  of  their  native  country.  This  is  a  palpable 
outrage  on  natural  rights.  British  law,  like  the  laws  of 
almost  every  other  Christian  land,  still  defends  this 
monopoly,  and  offers,  as  yet,  no  true  remedy,  no  just  res- 
toration, for  the  evictions  and  usurpations  of  past  days,  as 
if  time  had  already  legalized  ancient  acts  of  robbery  and 
spoliation ;  and  while  Peligion  stands  by  and  smiles  with 
satisfaction  at  the  present  social  arrangement,  the  nation- 
al Church,  supported  by  plunder,  will  make  no  effort  at 
reform  in  thin  particular,  but  contented  with  its  earthly 
honors  and  emoluments,  it  assumes  a  proud  humility,  and 
bids  its  destitute  adherents  be  submissive  to  the  decrees 
of  Providence,  and  to  the  powers  that  be ;  and  then,  by  its 
own  course,  it  glaringly  exhibits  a  sad  example  of  partiality 
and  injustice  in  the  treatment  of  its  own  clergy.  The 
truly  faithful  pastors  whose  duties  are  the  most  arduous, 
receive  as  the  reward  of  their  labor  scarcely  sufficient  for 
their  humble  support,  while  drones,  called  "  church  digni- 
faries,"  are  glutted  with  favors,  and  live  in  luxury. 

These  views  strongly  impressed  the  curate  at  the  time ; 
he  had  long  felt  that  religion  had  become  the  trade  of 
many  unscrupulous  men,  who,  when  clothed  in  its  garb, 
and  uttering  its  prayer,  had  acted  as  if  their  profession- 
called  sacred— had  authorized  them  to  ignore  every  prin- 
ciple of  right.  He  knew  that  clerical  arrogance  and 
assumption,  Pagan  and  Mohammedan,  as  well  as  Chris- 
tian, had  circumscribed  progress  and  stifled  many  of  the 
most  generous  impulses,  and  at  the  moment  his  memory 
retraced  many  instances  of  their  folly. 

When  Manetho,  the  Egyptian  priest  and  historian,  was 
unable  to  believe  that  man  alone  could  possibly  have 
erected  the  vast  pyramids,  obelisks,  colossal  statues,  and 
temples  of  the  Nile,  he  insisted  in  his  writings  that  these 


'iJi 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THF  HEATH. 


L5 


: 

r 


amazing);  structures  hod  been  erected  by  a  dynasty  of  pods 
who  li.'id  been  the  original  rulers  of  Epypt  for  about 
twenty-five  thousand  years,  before  human  boinjjs  had 
become  their  8uccossf^)r.s. 

When  the  Calii)h  Al  Mainun,  tlie  cotcnutomiy  of  Char 
Icriia«,Mio,  received,  with  distinction,  at  hi3CourtatHa.i?da<l. 
foreign  astronomers  and  learned  men,  ho  encountered 
much  opi>osition  from  the  Mohammedan  priests,  who  did 
not  wish  that  faitliful  Moslems  should  ever  seek  for  sci- 
ence or  wisdom  beyond  that  contained  in  the  Koran. 

When  Ou'ar,  surnamed  El  Aalem,  or  the  learned,  wrote 
a  Keologii'ul  work  on  the  retreat  of  tlies«*a,  the  same  priests 
declared  that  his  system  was  conlradiidory  to  certain  i)tts- 
sa^es  in  the  inspired  Koran;  iio  was,  therefure,  called 
upon  to  make  a  public  recantation  of  his  supposed  error, 
and  to  avoid  [lersecution,  he  loft  Samarakand. 

After  C<Ji)ornicu8  had  written  his  great  work,  Ih'  lirv<>lu.. 
Wmihns  Orbinm  Ccelestium,  proving  the  sun  to  be  the 
centre  of  our  system,  so  opposed  were  the  priests  of  his 
time  to  new  opinions,  that  ho  hid  his  manuscrii)t  for  over 
twelve  yeais,  lest  its  publication  should  insure  an  anath- 
ema. 

Learned  Jesuit  fathers  of  the  Christian  Church,  so 
Intimidated  Galileo  by  threats  and  imprisonment,  that  he 
made  a  degrading  abjuration  of  what  he  had  written  in 
favor  of  the  Coperniean  system  ;  his  works  were  then  said 
to  be  in  opposition  to  the  exi)ress  word  of  God,  and  his 
"Dialogues"  were  burnt  at  Rome,  Yet  though  seven 
cardinals  signed  the  sentence  of  the  Inquisition  against 
Galileo,  and  though  even  Luther  joined  in  the  outcry 
against  the  correct  theory  of  planetary  revolution,  still 
that  theory  is  now  accepted  Ijy  science,  and  the  name  of 
Galileo  is  honored  by  all ! 

As  soon  as  Buffon  hadpublisliod  his  "  Natural  History," 
which  included  his  "  Theory  of  the  Earth,"  he  was  otTicially 
informed  by  the  Faculty  of  Theology  in  Paris,  that  several 
of  his  propositions  "were  reprehensible  and  contrary  to 
the  creed  of  the  Church ; "  and  Buffon,  too,  was  compelled 


'it  I 


26 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HE.VTH. 


iiii' 


m\'^ 


to  humbly  declare,  that  he  had  no  inteution  to  contradict 
scripture,  and  that  he  would  abandon  everything  he  had 
written  which  might  be  considered  contrary  to  the  law  of 
Moses. 

Newton's  thoory  of  gravitation  was  at  first  strongly 
opposed ;  he  was  accused  of  skepticism,  and  certain  of  the 
pious,  who  declaimed  against  human  learning,  maintained 
that  "  the  Hebrew  Scriptures,  when  rightly  translated, 
comprised  a   perfect   system    of     natural   philosophy." 

Priests  had  also  assumed  to  dictate  to  science,  and  had, 
time  after  time,  foolishly  protested  against  the  opinions 
and  discoveries  of  enlightened  investigating  and  ingen- 
ious men.  Discovery  and  invention  seem  to  have  been 
too  often  looked  upon  by  the  Church  as  tAvin  children  of 
the  Evil  One.* 

Geographical,  as  well  as  astronomical  and  geological 
knowledge  or  discovery,  was  promptly  opposed  or  discred- 
ited whenever  it  came  in  conflict  with  the  crude  clerical 
notions  of  the  age.f 

When  the  enlightened  Bavarian  Bishop  Virgil,  before 
the  ninth  century,  asserted  the  existence  of  the  Antipodes, 
Pope  Zachary,  who  was  scandalized  at  the  idea,  sent 
orders  to  his  legate,  "to  strip  him  of  his  priesthood,  and 
drive  him  from  the  Church  and  altars  of  God." 

Roger  Bacon,  the  ingenious  Franciscian  Friar,  who  was 


*  Ecclesiastical  architedare,  statuary  or  painting— any  effort 
which  could  add  to  the  material  splendor  of  the  Church— might  bo 
indulged;  but  were  a  vigorous  Inventive  mind  inclined  to  go  much 
further,  suspicion  was  easily  aroused,  and  the  spectre  of  a  Dominican 
pointing  to  the  Inquisition,  too  ol"ten  restrained  the  aspirations  of 
genius.  Darwin  says;  '*  During  the  same  period,  the  Holy  luQuisi- 
tion  selected,  with  extreme  care,  the  freest  and  boldest  men  in  order 
to  burn  and  iniprison  them.  In  Spain  alone,  some  of  the  best  men, 
those  who  doubted  and  questioned— and  without  doubting  and  ques- 
tioning there  can  be  no  progress— were  eliminated  during  three  jon- 
turies  nt  the  rate  of  a  thousand  a  year."    (Descent  of  Man  Vol.  i,  p.  171.) 

t  A  curious  clerical  theory,  as  to  the  causes  of  the  revolution  of  the 
earth,  is  that  given  by  the  Rev.  Father  Hardouin.  He  believed  that 
the  rotation  of  the  earth  was  caused  by  lost  souls  trying  to  escape 
from  the  central  Are  of  our  globe ;  that  by  their  climbing  on  the  inner 
crust  of  the  earth,  which  he  asserted  was  the  wall  of  hell,  the  world 
was  made  to  rovolve.  as  a  squirrel,  by  clirabing,  turns  a  ca^e  I 


m^ 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


27 


called  by  his  admircis  the  "  Doctor  Mirabilis ;"'  who  dared 
to  reprove  the  imir.oral  monks  and  clergy  of  his  time ;  who 
\'entured  to  explore  the  secrets  of  nature ;  who  was  an 
astronomer,  and  who,  it  is  said,  invented  spectacles,  and 
made  useful  suggestions  respecting  the  telescope  and  the 
microscope,  iuid  wlio  made  many  valual)le  scientific  dis- 
coveries ;  tliis  wortliy  man  was  harrass.Ml  Vjy  clerical  igno- 
rance and  jealousy;  he  was  accused  of  being  in  league 
with  the  devil,  of  having  sold  himself  to  SJitan ;  his  dis- 
coveries were  pronounced  to  be  the  result  of  "  iiellish 
iiia,;,'ic;  "  his  great  work,  the  Opiifi  Mdju,^,  was  condemned, 
and,  by  order  of  Pope  Nicholas  III.,  he  was  forbidden 
to  teach.  After  useless  appeals,  he  was  thrust  into  prison 
in  his  old  age,  and  was  greatly  worn  and  enfeebled  by  an 
incarceration  of  ten  years.  Soon  after,  when  on  his  death- 
bed, he  uttered  these  melancholy  words  :  **  I  repent,  now. 
that  I  have  given  myself  so  much  trouble  for  the  love  of 
p('if>nce.  It  is  on  account  of  the  ignorance  of  those  with 
whom  I  have  to  deal,  that  I  have  not  been  able  to  accom- 
plish more." 

The  establishment  of  the  Royal  Society  of  England,  was 
opposed  because  it  was  feared  that  discoveries  in  exi)eri- 
mental  philosophy  **  might  be  subversive  of  the  Christian 
faith;"  the  telescope  and  the  microscope  were  called 
*•  Atheistical  inventions." 

Dr.  Jenner  was  denounced  for  his  discovery  of  vaccina- 
tion, and  the  pulpit  proclaimed  the  operation  as  "  diaboli- 
cal—a tempting  of  God's  i)rovidence,  and  therefore  a 
heinous  crime."  Harvey's  discovery  of  the  circulation  of 
blood  was  scoffed  at  by  priests,  and  even  by  many  t)hysi- 
cians,  for  many  years. 

Dr.  Franklin  was  charged  with  sacrilege  for  his  temerity 
with  lightning,  and  lightning-rods  were  condemned  as 
"  threatening  the  will  of  an  angry  God."  *  Men  who  first 
proposed  to  connect  the  Atlantic  and  Pacific  oceanS;  were 


•Almost  every  church  at  the  present  d.ay  has  its  llRhtninsr-rod: 
ministers  now  seem  to  thinlv  that  it  is  uerhaiis  more  efllcac.'ioui-;  thau 
pray  r  for  the  preservutiou  of  the  "  huuso  of  God." 


28 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


;!li! 


M  >i 


|;  I 


told  "  to  fear  the  vengeance  of  Heaven,  for  attempting  to 
improve  that  which  the  Creator,  in  his  almighty  will  and 
Providence,  has  ordained  from  the  creation  of  the  world." 
Russian  priests  considered  the  project  of  Peter  the  Great, 
to  cut  a  canal  between  the  Volga  and  the  Don,  as  "  great 
impiety." 

The  proposal  to  make  a  certain  river  in  Portugal  navi- 
gable to  the  Tagus,  was  forbidden,  because  the  Portugese 
clergy  asserte«l  that,  if  it  had  been  the  will  of  God  that 
the  river  should  be  navigable,  he  would  have  made  it  so ; 
and  when  Brindley,  the  great  engineer,  appeared  before 
a  parliamentary  committee  in  England,  to  urge  a  petition 
favoring  the  construction  of  canals,  he  was  asked  by  one 
of  the  pious  members :  "  Pray,  sir,  what  do  you  suppose 
God  made  rivers  for  ?  "  and  though  he  calmly  replied : 
"To  feed  canals,"  yet  the  petition  was  rejected  because 
the  Church  at  that  day  did  not  encourage  such  projects ; 
even  printing  was  looked  upon  as  a  hostile  discovery. 

How  strange  that  clerical  obstinacy  should  have  retard- 
ed the  progress  of  astronomy,  geology,  philosophy,  and 
of  almost  every  other  moral  and  physical  science;  it  is 
well  known  that  the  self-sufficiency  of  a  majority  of  the 
most  influential  ministers  has  been  a  hinderance  to  social 
and  political  advancement;  even  in  petty  matters  their 
interference  has  been  most  absurd.  Not  many  yesars  ago, 
persons  who  attempted  to  winnow  corn  by  mechanical 
means  were  refused  communion,  while  others  were  reprov- 
ed for  using  forks  instead  of  fingers  in  the  use  of  food; 
and  in  our  own  day  "  life  assurance  "  has  been  neglected 
by  many  because  it  "argues  a  distrust  in  Providence." 

A  distinguished  writer,  reflecting  on  clerical  arrogance 
and  dictation  in  relation  to  scientific  matters,  says : 

"  Who  shall  number  the  patient  and  earnest  seekers 
after  truth,  from  the  days  of  Galileo  until  now,  whose 
lives  have  been  embittered  and  their  good  name  blasted 
by  the  mistaken  zeal  of  bibliolaters  ?  Who  shall  count 
the  hosts  of  weaker  men,  whose  sense  of  truth  has  been 
destroyed  in  the  effort  to  harmonize  impossibilities— whoa© 


18 
■■I 

I 


] 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


29 


J 

I 
■1 


life  has  been  wasted  in  the  attempt  to  force  the  penerous 
new  wine  of  science  into  the  old  l>ottles  of  Judaism,  com- 
pelled by  the  outcry  of  the  same  stron,uf  party?  It  is 
true,  that  if  philosophers  have  suffered,  their  cause  has 
I  teen  amply  avenj^ed.  Extinguished  theologians  lie  about 
the  cradle  of  every  science  as  the  strangled  snake  beside 
that  of  Hercules;  and  history  records  that,  whenever 
science  and  orthodoxy  have  been  fairly  opposed,  the  latter 
has  been  forced  to  retire  from  the  lists,  bleeding  and 
crushed,  if  not  annihilated — scotched,  if  not  slain.  But 
orthodoxy  is  the  Bourbon  of  the  world  of  thought.  It 
learns  not,  neither  can  it  forget;  and  though  at  present 
bewildered  and  afraid  to  move,  it  is  as  willing  as  ever  to 
insist  that  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis  contains  the 
beginning  and  the  end  of  sound  science,  and  to  visit  with 
such  petty  thunderbolts,  as  its  half  paralyzed  hands  can 
hurl,  those  who  refuse  to  degrade  nature  to  the  level  of 
]»rimitive  Judaism."    (Huxley,  Lay  Sermons,  p.  278.) 

And  another — 

"  For  more  than  three  centuries  the  decad<^nce  of  the- 
ological influence  has  been  one  of  the  most  invariable 
signs  and  measures  of  our  progress.  In  medicine,  physi- 
cal science,  commercial  interests,  politics,  and  even  ethics, 
the  reformer  has  been  confronted  with  theological  affir- 
mations that  have  barred  his  way,  which  were  all  defended 
as  of  vital  importance,  and  were  all  compelled  to  yield 
before  the  secularizing  influence  of  civilization."  (Lecky, 
History  of  Morals,  Vol.  2,  p.  18.) 

Such  instances  of  interference  the  curate  knew  had 
been  recorded  as  facts  against  pastors  of  the  Christian 
Church;  and  he  also  knew  that,  under  the  influence  of 
religion  and  nationality,  influences  which  very  many 
still  deem  most  sacred,  the  most  terrible  woes  had  fallen 
upon  the  human  family.  What  sufferings,  he  thought,  have 
beei.  endured  by  mankind  because  of  their  adhesion  to 
those  cherished  ideas!  What  enormities  have  followed 
the  so-called  propagation  of  the  new  faith!  Christianity 
claims  to  be  a  religion  of  peace,  yet,  what  bitter  discus- 


§ 


•  lit 

!  ■ 


'I 


M:!!   I 


I    i' 


30 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


sion,  what  fierce  strife,  and  what  sanguinary  contests  have 
followed  its  footsteps.  The  early  enemies  of  our  faith  had 
marked  the  progress  of  the  Church  from  an  humble 
beginning,  to  wealth  and  power,  culminating  in  tyranny 
and  persecution.  It  had  scarcely  escaped  from  the  bloody 
rule  of  a  Nero  or  a  Diocletian  ore  it  rushed  out  from  its 
gloomy  hiding  place  in  the  Catacombs,  greedy  itself  for 
blood  ;  and  history  has  borne  sad  evidence  of  the  atrocities 
of  its  adherents.  The  Christian  Church  had  barely  emerg- 
ed from  its  cloud  of  obscurity,  and  gained  recognition  by 
the  government  of  the  period,  ere  it  snatched  the  sword 
and  persecuted  its  pagan  predecessors;  and  then  there 
followed  contention  and  disunion  among  its  own  uphold- 
ers. It  encouraged  the  wild  crusades ;  it  established  the 
Inquisition  in  Spain,  and  had  its  Star  Chamber  in  Eng- 
land. It  gave  a  modal  in  commemoration  of  the  massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew;  and  conferred  rank  upon  those  who 
slaughtered  Papists  in  Ireland.  In  Eome  it  was  a  fury,  in 
England  a  despot,  in  almost  every  nation  under  its  sway,  a 
fierce,  vindictive  tyrant.  It  has  ever  claimed  to  be  the  spirit 
of  order,  progress  and  intelligence,  yet  strange  to  learn, 
the  long  period— the  centuries  of  its  most  unlimited  con- 
trol— a  period  of  moral  and  intellectual  degeneracy— is 
known  to  all  as  the  "dark  ages."  Before,  as  well  as  after  tlie 
Reformation,  the  Church  was  implacal)lc  against  unlimit- 
ed freedom  of  thought,  and  even  now,  in  more  enlightened 
times,  should  Reason  offer  the  most  humble  suggestion, 
contradictory  to  the  mysteries  of  Faith,  a  host  of  its 
ordained  exponents  will  consign  Reason  to  infamy ;  as  if 
truth  in  any  form  could  be  eclipsed  by  doubt,  or  overcome 
by  argument.  Why  should  this  be  ?  Why  is  it  that  creeds 
tend  to  make  priests  arrogant,  and  men  servile ;  and  why 
should  ideas  of  intolerance  and  persecution  relate  almost 
solely  to  religious  or  speculative  belief  ?  The  Church  as- 
sumes to  teach  humility,  yet  it  is  ever  eager  for  power ;  it 
denounces  worldliness,  though  insatiable  for  wealth;  it 
preaches  peace,  while  being,  perhaps,  the  active  and  prin- 
cipal cause  of  the  most  desperate  wars — its  inconsistencies 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


81 


are  innumerable.  This  was  the  curate's  train  of  thought 
at  the  time,  and  though  he  had  often  had  his  own  peculiar 
doubts,  and  fancied  he  had  discovered  many  discrepancies 
ill  word  and  in  doctrine,  yel  he  would  try  to  reconcile  all ; 
he  would  even  plead  with  himself  for  the  Church.  In  his 
darkest  hours  he  had  often  been  solaced  by  the  teachings 
of  immortality  and  future  bliss.  There  might  be  errors 
in  its  doctrine,  discrepancies  in  its  scriptures,  and  useless 
formality  in  its  ritual;  but  after  all  there  was  something 
ennobling  in  its  example;  something  sterling  in  its  pre- 
cepts ;  something  tender  and  beautiful  in  its  solemn  pray- 
ers and  liturgies ;  and  something  estatic  and  divine  in  its 
promises  of  reward.  It  had  been  the  gate  of  Heaven  to 
many  a  poor  humble  soul  who  had  found  the  world  unkind, 
and  to  a  host  of  the  simple  and  unlearned  it  had  smoothed 
the  passage  to  the  grave. 

But  then,  again,  thought  he  in  his  wavering,  why  have 
so  many  of  the  educated  and  intelligent  grown  so  indiffer- 
ent to  religion  ?  Why  is  skepticism  on  the  increase,  boldly 
challenging  discussion  ?  Alas !  the  curate  felt  that  he 
himself  had  too  often  wavered  in  his  faith,  that  his  belief 
was  uncertain,  that  he  had  passed  years  in  irresolution, 
regretting  that  he  had  ever  entered  the  Church  as  a  pastor, 
and  that  he  had  often  and  often  wished  and  prayed  for  a 
means  of  living  more  in  accord  with  his  own  ideas  of  use- 
fulness. He  looked  back  upon  those  years  as  a  bleak 
period  of  doubt  and  perplexity,  and  he  fancied  that  had  he 
been  placed  in  a  different  position  he  might  have  had  a 
larger  field  for  liberty  of  thought  and  action;  but  like 
Prometheus  he  had  been  chained  to  a  rock— he  had  been 
bound  to  a  creed,  and  dared  not  openly  speculate  be- 
yond it. 

As  he  thus  sat  thinking,  there  was  an  expression  of  sad- 
ness upon  his  intellectual  face,  and  his  mild  grey  eye  still 
rested  upon  the  green  sward.  He  looked  up,  the  sunlight 
had  departed,  and  the  solemn  gloom  of  night  was  soon  to 
rest  upon  the  old  church  tower;  he  felt  that  the  evening 
of  his  owa  life  would  soon  draw  to  a  close.    And  now  came 


i 


li 


II 


32 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  great  regret,  that  for  want  of  determination,  for  the 
want  of  that  true  courage  which  the  genuine  in  nobility 
anu  heroism  alone  possess,  his  efforts  in  the  cause  of  pro- 
gress had  been  sadly  circumscribed.  Though  still  in 
comparative  health  and  vigor,  the  grey  hairs  of  age  had 
come,  and  he  soon  might  have  its  palsied  hand  and  its 
faltering  step ;  it  was  too  late  now  to  enter  upon  a  differ- 
ent mission— he  must  leave  his  task  unflnished.  He 
thought  of  this  with  regret— with  remorse.  And  brood- 
ing alone  over  this  in  the  deepening  shadows,  there  he 
still  sat,  sighing  at  seventy,  sa.dly  sighing  that  the  sum 
mer  of  his  life  had  been  wasted  away. 


•i 


ii 


Mii 


I 


CHAPTER    IV. 


ESTHER  MEADE, 

QHE  was  looking  at  the  ocean  in  its  grandeur,  at  the 
^.summer  sea,  at  another  dawn  upon  the  great  wa^Ue  of 
waters.  How  glorious  in  its  immensity!  There  it  lay,  the 
mysterious  deep — a  picture  of  the  illimitable— in  its  most 
complacent  mood,  gently  heaving  beneath  the  timid  light 
of  the  early  day,  while  flashes  of  purple  and  gold  glanced 
far  and  near  over  its  broad  azure  bosom.  As  yet  the  out- 
lines of  the  distant  coast  were  barely  visible ;  the  dim  grey 
mountain  afar  seemed  to  rise  up  like  a  lone  pyramid  in  the 
great  desert;  the  island,  still  beyond,  rested  like  some 
aeriel  creation  upon  the  slumbering  waves,  and  then,  soon 
as  the  sun's  broad  shafts,  like  spirits  of  the  light,  shot 
broadly  upwards,  the  mariner's  beacon  flame  faded  away 
with  the  stars,  and  the  huge  ships  away,  away  out  ui)on 
the  quiet  sea,  appeared  to  be  flecks  of  drifting  foam  u}>on 
the  blushing  ocean. 

She  was  looking  with  placid  enjoyment  at  this  fresh 
display  of  natural  beauty  and  sublimity;  s!ieoovild  witness 
with  eagerness  the  tumult  of  a  tempest,  but  the  glorious 
scene  before  her  was  one  which  was  sure  to  lead  Esther 
Meade  into  a  state  of  calm  religious  contemplation.  She 
felt  that  the  attractive  and  harmonious  blending  of  earth, 
ocean,  and  sky,  as  then  seen,  was  produ<"ed  for  man's 
special  observation  and  instruction ;  that  the  eye  was  made 
to  convey  impressions  of  these  superb  objects  to  the  mind, 
and  that  while  he  must  necessarily  acknowledge  evidence 


u 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  REATfl. 


t':;» 


;:it' 


of  design  in  their  creation,  his  heart  mnst  beat  in  pratiturlo 
to  the  great  designer— the  giver  of  all  good. 

Siu'h  was  the  bent  of  her  thonglits  as  she  stood  leanin  ; 
against  one  of  the  great  rooks  that  studded  the  pebbly 
shore  of  Pondell  bay.  Esther  Moade  was  a  picture  of 
health,  and  of  womanly  grace  and  dignity,  and  every  look 
and  gesture  indicated  self-reliance  and  resolution.  She 
was  of  medium  height,  and  her  ligure  was  almost  perfect. 
Her  face,  though  not  very  handsome,  was  one  thata  painter 
would  like  to  study.  It  had  a  rare  expression  of  calmness 
and  determination  ;  her  eyes  were  blue  and  soft,  but  pen- 
etrating ;  they  seemed  to  catch  one's  thoughts  at  a  glance ; 
and  her  dark  brown  hair  was  now  almost  hidden  under 
the  ample  straw  hat  which  she  wore  in  her  rambles  and 
excursions.  Though  quite  indifferent  to  the  modes  and 
almost  endless  changes  of  modern  millinery,  her  dress  was 
always  most  becoming,  and  without  affecting  contempt 
for  expensive  fashion,  her  own  neat  and  peculiar  style  had 
imitators  among  many  who  were  prone  to  indulge  in  the 
lace  and  silken  mysteries  or  the  boudoir. 

Esther  Meade  delighted  to  be  out  with  the  dawn.  In 
the  mild  Summer  time  she  would  often  recline  for  over  an 
hour  at  a  time  upon  some  jutting  rock  that  was  covered 
with  sea  weed,  and  watch  the  rising  sun,  or  wait  until 
some  distant  sail  had  disappeared  from  view.  She  was 
accustomed  to  the  sea  in  all  its  moods.  She  could  row  a 
boat  or  manage  a  sail ;  she  could  fish  or  swim,  (as  every 
wonian  should  be  able  to  do) ;  she  knew  the  whole  chan- 
nel into  the  bay  as  well  as  a  pilot ;  and  she  knew  every 
dangerous  rock,  and  every  wave-worn  cave  for  some  miles 
along  the  coast,  and  oftentimes,  even  in  rather  rough 
weather,  she  would  sail  or  row  out  alone  to  the  distant 
light-house,  and  if  the  day  was  calm,  she  would  stay  lloat- 
ing  about  for  hours  among  the  dangerous  rocks  sur- 
rounding that  structure,  peering  down,  as  some  hovering 
sea  bird  would,  into  the  blue  depths,  as  if  looking  after 
some  stray  anchor  of  the  Armada,  or  watching  some  shin- 
ing object  below ;  or  eager  to  find  some  relic  of  a  storm,  or 


THE  HE\THEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


35 


trace  the  scattered  spoil  of  a  wreck.  It  was  her  delight  to 
be  away  on  these  excursions ;  slic  knew  no  fear,  and  she 
would  venture  out  in  the  wildest  storm  did  necessity 
require  it.  Her  father  often  told  her  that  she  was  too 
daring,  but,  knowing  her  coolness  and  dexterity,  he  seldom 
felt  uneasy  at  her  absence.  She  had  been  trained  to  this 
rough  and  healthy  exercise  by  her  brother,  and  since  his 
departure  she  seemed  more  inclincil  to  take  such  recrea- 
tion ;  it  no  doubt  reminded  her  of  the  many  happy  hours 
they  had  thus  spent  together.  She  felt  his  absence  sorely ; 
she  had  now  no  companion  in  her  wild  excursions ;  most 
of  her  female  friends  thought  her  too  reckless,  scarce- 
ly one  of  them  would  venture  to  join  in  her  hazardous 
expeditions,  and  none  of  the  farmers'  sons  in  the  parish 
would  presume  to  make  advances  to  the  curate's  daughter, 
and  the  sons  of  such  of  the  gentry  as  chose  to  reside  ncur 
Pendell  generally  sought  fashion  in  London,  or  in  other 
cities,  often  spending  lavishly  what  their  falhers,  in  their 
latter  years,  had  tried  to  save. 

In  the  Summer  months  a  titled  family  or  two  might 
make  a  short  stay  at  Pendell ;  ordinary  visitors  came  and 
went,  but  none  came  who  could  in  any  measure  supply  the 
place  of  her  brother.  There  was  one  particular  visiror, 
however,  who  professei  to  greatly  enjoy  such  recreation 
as  she  was  in  the  habit  of  taking,  and  who  seemed  willing 
to  spend  half  of  his  time  out  in  the  Bay;  this  was  the 
Rev.  George  Morton,  the  rector.  He,  no  doubt,  wished  to 
make  his  parochial  visits  to  Pendell  periods  of  spec  ial 
relaxation ;  during  such  times,  he  strove  to  pay  the  most 
distinguished  attention  to  Miss  Meade,  and  he  often  pro- 
posed to  accompany  her  in  a  ramble  along  the  shore,  or 
on  a  boating  excursion  ;  she  evidently  stood  very  high  in 
his  estimation,  and  he  was  anxious  to  have  her  under- 
stand his  appreciation.  She,  however,  seemed  indifferent 
as  to  whether  the  rector  considered  her  clever,  or  amiable, 
tv  otherwise ;  she,  somehow,  never  felt  inclined  to  take  a 
walk,  or  enter  a  boat  during  his  stay;  and  as  she  did  not 
consider  herself  particularly  favored  either  by  his  prefer- 


I 

r 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HKATH. 


r.   I 


i    Hi, 


i!  if 


ence  or  pressinj?  requests,  she  always  had  a  ready  excuse 
to  remain  at  home.  Still,  on  her  father's  account,  know- 
ing his  dependent  position  on  the  mere  whim  of  his  supe- 
rior—or rather  of  his  employer—slie  endeavored  to  make 
herself  as  agreeable  as  possible,  and  to  keep  Mr,  Morton 
from  fancying  himself  at  all  slij^hted.  Sometimes  the 
rector  was  accomi)anied  by  his  wife,  he  appeared  anxious 
that  she  and  Miss  Meade  should  become  very  intimate, 
but  Mrs.  Morton  felt  her  position,  she  was  too  straight- 
laced  and  dignified  in  her  manner  with  the  curate's 
daughter,  and  the  formal  invitation  which  she  had  given 
Esther  to  visit  the  distant,  stylish  rectory,  had  never  yet 
been  formally  accepted. 

So  Miss  Meade,  fair  and  attractive  as  she  was  in  her 
twenty-fourth  year,  could  not  boast  of  a  lover,  or  of  a 
choice  companion  ;  neither  did  she  receive,  except  seldom, 
the  polite  attentions  which  gentlemen  are  generally  glad 
to  show  to  ladies  of  refinement  and  education.  Had  her 
father  been  a  bishop,  or  a  rich  rector,  many  gallants 
might  have  fancied  that  her  blushes  had  reddened  their 
wine ;  but  as  he  was  only  a  poor  curate,  Llio  shade  of  his 
penury  paled  the  modest  bloom  that  would  have  adorned 
a  princess.  Her  comparatively  secluded  position  had, 
however,  given  her  more  self-reliance,  and  as  she  cared 
neither  for  the  frivolity  of  artificial  friendship,  nor  for  the 
glare  of  fashionable  life,  she  only  sought  to  make  her 
father's  home  happy,  and  to  do  her  duty  within  her  own 
particular  sphere.  As  a  clergyman's  daughter,  she  took 
great  interest  in  the  affairs  of  their  rural  church.  In  one 
sense  she  was  in  principle  strongly  "  high  church,"  that 
is,  her  father  and  her  grandfather,  and  her  great  grand- 
father, having  been  duly  ordained  and  declared  successors 
in  the  apostolic  order,  and  authorized  to  preach  whole- 
some doctrine,  and  to  administer  the  two  Protestant  sac- 
ra?nents  according  to  the  ceremonial  of  the  Church  of 
England,  she  inherited,  or  believed  that  she  had  a  right  to 
inherit,  strong  prejudices  in  favor  of  the  Established 
Church.    Her  ideas  of  theology  wore  educed  more  from  the 


* 


i'  i' 


mil  li;' 


THE  nr\THE\S  OF  THE  HEATH. 


37 


church  catechism  and  the  chiucli  i)niyoi  book,  than  fron\ 
the  Bible,  and  she  therefore  inferred  that  the  Church  of 
which  that  prayer  book  was  the  expositor,  was,  and  must 
be,  the  sole  pillar  and  ground  of  truth.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  she  1  ooked  upon  dissenters  as  rank  and  obstinate  error- 
ists,  and  upon  the  chapels,  or  conventicles,  as  she  preferred 
to  call  them,  of  Presbyterians,  or  of  Methodists,  or  of  other 
denominations,  as  places  or  dens  where  rank  heresy  was 
inculcated  contrary  to  the  ceremonies,  doctrines  and  arti- 
cles plainly  set  forth  in  the  aforesaid  Protestant  manual; 
and,  like  a  certain  class  of  hijj:h  church  individuals,  she 
could  treat  Popery  with  respect,  while  dissent  was  but  wor- 
thy of  contempt.  Still  the  actions  of  Esthin*  Meade  were 
not  intolerant;  it  was  only  her  opinions  that  were  illiberal. 
How  fortunate  it  would  have  been  for  mankind,  had  such 
virtuous  inconsistency  controlled  the  acts  of  the  inhuman 
religious  dogmatists  of  other  days !  In  her  frequent  inter- 
course with  humble  families  in  the  parish,  as  well  as  in 
the  more  distant  parts,  she  never  inquired  as  to  tlieir 
creed,  with  a  view  to  regulate  her  sympathies ;  she  tried  to 
discover  their  wants,  and  then  she  made  efforts  to  benefit 
all  without  distinction.  The  preachers  or  teachers  of  dis- 
sent were  in  reality  the  only  ones  against  whom  she  ever 
hurled  a  reproach,  and  although  she  had  an  instinctive 
dread  of  Infidelity,  yet  she  tried  to  think  it  more  consist- 
ent and  less  injurious  to  the  uneducated  and  humbler 
classes,  than  the  crude  schism  proi)agated  by  dogmatic 
or  blatant  reverends  of  the  Knox  or  Wesley  schools.  The 
Established  Church  was  therefore  to  her  the  real  true 
Church  for  England  ;  it  was  the  spiritual  successor  of  its 
ancient  Roman  mother,  a  church  which  she  venerated  for 
its  antiquity,  but  denounced  because  of  its  oppression. 
The  English  Church  was  freed  from  the  useless  ostenta- 
tious cer-^monies  of  Romanism,  it  was  purged  from  the 
pagan  and  superstitious  rites  which  had  adhered  to  the 
ancient  faith,  and  it  shone  forth  in  happy  England  as  the 
authorized  exponent  of  Christian  truth.  She  often  won- 
dered why  these  characteristics  were  not  ajti^arent  to  all, 


If 


38 


THE  HEATHKNS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


1  "l    li' 


and  that  all  did  not  submit  to  its  toachinp:s.  T]w  Roman 
Church,  she  holioved,  had  been  once  divinely  ordained, 
but  it  had  fallen  from  its  Kl<^ry,  it  had  beeome  proud  and 
intolerant,  and  had  forfeited  its  position  of  pre-eminence. 
It  had  persecuted,  and  this,  she  thought,  was  alone  suffi- 
cient to  insure  its  degradation.  A  Christian  church,  perse- 
cuting for  opinion's  sake,  seemed  monstrous ;  and  she  well 
knew  that  the  great  ecclesiastical  Roman  power  had  cared 
but  very  little  for  human  life  where  its  own  intolerant 
aims  re<piired  a  human  sacrifice. 

Overlooking  its  many  bitter  contests  for  supremacy,  she 
shuddered  at  its  wanton  prosecution  of  the  wild  attempts 
of  the  crusades  in  which  whole  nations  had  been  involv- 
ed. The  Head  of  the  Christian  Church,  Christian  poten- 
tates, and  Christian  priests,  had  all  urged  the  credulous 
and  impressible  multitudes  to  arm;  and  frantic  hosts, 
with  sword  and  torch,  rushed  forward  to  slay  the  hated 
possessor  of  the  "Holy  Land,"  in  order  to  rescue  what 
was  supposed  to  be  the  sepulchre  of  Christ  from  pagan 
control ;  and  though  the  Saracens  had  generally  respected 
the  religious  idea  of  the  Pilgrims  who  went  to  visit  the 
sacred  tomb,  and  had  even  allowed  them  to  build  a  church ; 
and  though  many  believe  that  there  is  no  fair  evidence  to 
prove  that  these  enlightened  unbelievers  had  ever  dese- 
crated the  spot  so  sacred  to  Christians,  yet,  in  later  times, 
after  a  horde  of  barbarous  Turks  had  taken  possession  of 
Jerusalem,  whi  :i  it  was  asserted  that  Christian  pilgrims 
had  been  terribly  abused.  Christian  nations  became  in- 
censed, and  believed  that  the  Almighty  required  them  to 
deal  out  signal  vengeance,  and  in  what  followed,  we  see 
the  "Christian  at  work." 

Pope  Urban  II.,  greatly  affected,  it  is  said,  by  the  reci- 
tals of  Peter  the  Hermit,  who  had  visited  Jerusalem, 
addressed  an  immense  multitude,  and  urged  them  to  de- 
part and  rescue  the  holy  sepulchre,  and  as  soon  as  he  had 
raised  his  hand  to  bless  the  armed  host,  and  had  pro- 
nounced the  absolution  of  their  sins,  they  rushed  oEC  in 
their  terrible  course  of  destruction. 


I 


THE  HEATHENS  oF  THE  HEVIH. 


M 


So,  onwanl  marched  a  motly  assemblage  of  undisci- 
plined tliousaiids,  woarini^  a  cross  upon  tiie  shoulder,  dis- 
l.luying  the  cross  ui»on  flaunting  banners, and  shouting 
the  battle  cry  of  "  7>(''/.s'  vult,''  God  wills  it.  The  belief  was 
then  general,  that  the  whole  world  was  about  to  be  de- 
stroyed, and  that  the  great  day  of  judgment  was  at  hand. 
Every  eclipse  was  the  cause  of  intense  alarm  ;  business 
was  almost  entirely  neglected ;  buildings  were  suffered  to 
Ijccome  ruins,  and  true  believers  seemed  only  anxious  to 
[)ropitiate  heaven  by  attempting  to  rescue  the  holy  sep- 
ulchre ere  the  final  consumation  of  all  things.  Insane 
with  this  idea,  the  fanatical  Crusaders  dealt  no  mercy  to 
those  who  opposed  them ;  men,  women  and  children,  they 
remorselessly  slaughtered;  neither  tender  infancy  nor 
hoary  age  was  respected,  and  thousands  of  unfortunate 
Jews  were  wantonly  murdered.  In  the  first  crusade,  after 
a  siege  of  five  weeks,  Jerusalem  was  taken  by  assault,  and 
a  distinguished  writer  *  remarks:  "  Neither  arms  defend- 
ed the  valiant,  nor  submission  the  timorous.  No  age  or 
sex  was  spared,  infants  on  the  breast  were  pierced  by  the 
same  blow  with  their  mothers  who  implored  for  mercy ; 
even  a  multitude,  to  the  number  of  10,000  persons  who 
had  surrendered  themselves  prisoners,  and  were  promised 
quarter,  were  butchered  in  cold  blood  by  those  ferocious 
conquerors."  It  is  admitted  that,  throughout  the  entire 
period  of  those  terrible  struggles,  the  Christians  were  more 
brutal,  and  far  less  merciful,  than  the  unbelievers  whose 
country  they  had  invaded ;  and  though  they  had  violated 
treaties  with  impunity,  yet  when  the  chivalrous  infidel, 
Saladin,  took  Jerusalem,  he  spared  all. 

However,  after  these  vast  preparations,  after  the  prayers 
of  the  Church,  after  seven  different  crusades  occurring 
from  time  to  time  during  a  period  of  over  150  years,  caus- 
ing the  destruction  of  over  two  millions  of  human  beings ; 
after  such  a  waste  of  blood  and  treasure,  and  after  such 
untold  expense,  a  few  temporary  successes  were  the  mea- 


h 


Hume. 


If 


40 


THE  HEATHENS  OE  THE  HEATtt. 


m 


W 


gre  result;  and  the  cowed,  decimated  crusaders  returned, 
leaving  the  "Holy  City"  still  in  the  possession  of  the 
unbeliever ;  and  Palestine,  even  to  the  present  day,  rejects 
the  cross,  and  is  under  the  dominion  of  the  crescent. 

The  main  benefits  which  the  world  derived  from  the 
crusades,  were  an  increase  of  commerce  with  the  unbe- 
lieving nations  of  the  East,  and  the  extended  influence  of 
Grecian  and  Saracenic  civilization  and  refinement  among 
Christians;  but  the  Christian  Church  was  a  peculiar 
gainer,  inasmuch  as  it  was  further  enriched  by  a  fresh 
supply  of  human  skulls  and  bones,  {'  nd  other  saintly  relics 
direct  from  the  blest  or  cursed  city  of  Jerusalem.* 

Restless  in  its  mighty  power,  the  Church  still  aimed  at 
universal  domination ;  it  was  powerless  for  the  time 
against  Paganism,  but  there  were  others  whom  it  could 
control.  There  were  actually  Christians  at  that  time  who 
disputed  the  doctrines  and  defied  the  arrogance  of  the 
Roman  power.  The  Greek  Church  was  a  rival  which  could 
not  safely  be  assailed,  but  there  was  heresy  in  the  land, 
even  within  the  limits  of  Pontifical  authority,  which  must 
be  crushed  out  to  save  the  integrity  of  the  so-called 
"Mother  Church;"  and  the  sword  which  had  been  used 
ineffectually  when  the  Christian  was  at  work  against  the 
Infidel  m  Palestine,  was  now  to  be  turned  against  a  Chris- 
tian community  in  the  south  of  France.  The  Albigenses 
were  the  unfortunate  people  against  whom  the  head  of 
the  Church  had  directed  his  ire.  In  A.  D.  1209  Pope  Inno- 
cent III.  proclaimed  a  crusade  against  these  unoffending 
brethren— to  him  they  were  criminals  because  they  had 


% 

i!ii 


♦  Alluding  to  the  Crusaders,  Guizot  says:  "  Thoy  also  fonnd  them- 
selves in  juxtaposition  with  two  civilizations  not  only  diflforent  from 
their  own,  bui-  more  advanced,  tho  Greeks  on  the  one  hand,  and  the 
Mohammedans  on  the  other.  It  is  curious  to  observe  in  the  old 
chronicles,  the  impression  which  the  Crusaders  made  upon  the 
Mussulmans.  These  latter  regarded  them  flrst  as  barbarians ;  ns  the 
rudest,  the  most  ferocious,  and  the  most  stupid  ^n&ss  of  men  they 
had  ever  seen.  The  Crusaders,  on  their  part,  were  s^^ruck  with  tho 
riches  and  elegance  of  manners  of  the  Mussulmans."  (Hist.  Civili- 
zKtion.  Vol.  1.  p.  154.) 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


41 


dared  to  regulate  i  heir  own  religious  belief— imd  he  urged 
Oatholic  princes  and  people  to  hasten  forwaid  in  the  holy 
war  of  extermination;  and  in  his  fierce  exhortation  to 
the  king  of  France,  used  these  words:  "  We  exhort  you 
that  you  would  endeavor  to  destroy  that  wicked  heresy  of 
the  Aibigenses,  and  to  do  this  with  more  vigor  than  you 
would  toward  the  Saracens  themselves;  persecute  them 
with  a  strong  hand,  deprive  them  of  their  lands  and  pos- 
sessions, banish  them  and  put  lloman  Catholics  in  their 
room."  An  army  of  nearly  half  a  million  of  fierce  zealots 
was  soon  assembled,  each  of  whom  was  exempted  from 
the  jurisdiction  of  secular  courts  and  tribunals  for  debt  or 
for  crime;  the  pardon  of  all  sins,  past  and  future,  was 
promised  by  the  Church,  and  a  special  indulgence  was 
'^ranted  to  every  one  who  should  become  enrolled  in  the 
holy  army.  The  crusaders  against  Pagans  in  Palestine 
wore  a  cross  on  the  shoulder,  and,  as  a  distinguishing 
mark,  the  crusaders  against  Christians  in  France  wore  a 
cross  on  the  breast,  and  were  headed  and  commanded  by 
Chiistian  princes,  legates,  bishops,  and  noblemen.  Count 
Raymond  of  Toulouse,  then  ruler  of  the  territory  inhabited 
by  the  Aibigenses,  though  himsflf  a  Catholic,  was  quite 
averse  to  the  persecution  of  his  own  people,  and  his  inter- 
ference in  their  behalf  greatly  offended  the  Pope,  who  was 
determined  to  extirpate  the  heresy.  So  when  the  great 
army  moved  forward  the  Count  became  greatly  alarmed, 
and  tried  to  conciliate  his  Holiness  by  consenting  to  act 
even  against  the  Aibigenses ;  and  though  the  Pope  affect- 
ed to  grant  him  a  pardon,  he  merely  'vished  to  keep  him 
submissive  for  the  time,  intendinj^  to  punish  him  when 
oj^portunity  offered.  The  Pope's  duplicity  is  exposed  in 
the  following  message  which  he  addressed  to  his  legate : 
"  We  counsel  you,  with  the  Apostle  Paul,  to  employ  guile 
with  regard  to  this  Count,  for  in  this  case  it  ought  to  be 
called  prudence.  We  must  attack  bcpprately  those  who 
are  separated  from  unity ;  leave  for  a  time  the  Count  of 
Toulouse,  employing  towards  him  a  wise  dissimulation, 
that  the  other  heredos  may  be  the  more  easily  defeated, 


'■'i 


m 


c 

3 


hnl 


42 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


[■illl 


and  that  afterwards  we  may  crush  him  when  he  shall  be 
left  alone."  Such  was  the  craft  used  by  the  Vicar  of 
Christ :  his  fanatical  army  thirsted  for  blood.,  and  terrible 
was  the  onslaught ;  even  history  almost  hesitates  to  give 
the  dark  and  sickening  details  of  years  of  rapine,  blood 
and  slaughter. 

Having  taken  the  city  of  Beziers,  which  was  at  that 
time  crowded  with  refugees— Catholics  as  well  as  heretics 
—the  leaders  of  the  impatient  fanatics  requested  the  Pope's 
legate,  then  present,  to  inform  them,  before  the  slaughter 
commenced,  how  they  should  distinguish  Catholics  from 
heretics,  to  which  the  legate  sent  this  dreadful  reply: 
"Tuez  les  Tous,  Dieu  connoit  ceux  qui  sont  a  lui!  " — Kill 
them  all,  God  will  know  His  own.  This  infamous  com- 
mand was  strictly  obeyed— not  one  was  left  «'!ve — not  a 
house  was  left  standing,  and  in  the  sad  night  when  Beziers 
was  in  blood  and  flames,  over  60,000  human  beings  lay 
slaughtered  within  its  blackened  boundaries— a  fearful 
evidence  that  the  Christian  had  been  at  work. 


'  (• 


il 

III 


CHAPTER    V. 


"the  chkistian  at  work." 


npHERE  have  been  saints  in  all  ages,  and  in  all  nations, 


1 


Pagan  as  well  as  Christian.    As  boors  without  per- 


sonal worth,  or  the  least  trace  of  natural  nobility,  can, 
even  at  the  present  day,  be  created  temporal  Lords,  so 
the  vilest  of  sinners,  without  a  single  ray  of  holiness,  can 
still  be  baptized  or  elevated  into  saints.  The  Church  has 
ever  been  ready  to  canonize  its  favorites,  no  matter  what 
the  world  might  think  of  them  or  of  their  absurd  or  almost 
miraculous  transition  from  fiends  to  spirits  of  light.  If 
Pope  or  Prince  recognized  their  services,  from  either  a 
s]>iritual,  political,  or  peculiar  point,  it  was  easy  to  cancel 
sins,  venial  or  mortal,  to  pronounce  absolution,  and, 
tiierefore,  with  the  sacred  sponge  of  authority,  to  wii»e 
out  every  stain.  High  Priests  of  all  creeds  have,  for  a 
consideration,  generally  been  willing  to  transform  hid- 
eousness  into  beauty,  and  to  change  the  sordid,  brutal 
character  of  some  obsequious  tyrant  into  one  of  meekness 
and  purity,  deserving  of  a  prominent  position  even  in 
Paradise.  It  might  not  be  easy  to  determine  how  mucb 
folly,  how  much  virtue,  or  how  much  vice,  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  establish  a  claim  for  canonization,  but  it  is  well 
known  that  characters  noted  for  great  servility,  for  great 
humanity,  or  for  great  atrocities,  have  alike  been  elevated 
to  tlie  peerage  of  the  celestial  realm. 

Now,  without  much  seeking  for  illustrations  as  to  why 
some  have  received  such  special  spiritual  distinction,  we 


w 


44 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


IIm; 


■j«ii 


all  know  tliat  in  Hindoostan  the  fanatic  Brahmin  who 
tore  his  flesh  with  iron  hooks,  or  let  his  finger  nails  grow 
through  the  back  of  his  hand,  won  the  veneration  of  true 
believers,  and  was  esteemed  a  saint:  that  the  dervish,  or 
Mohammedan  monlv,  whose  life  was  spent  in  prayer  and 
penury,  and  who  was  ready  to  destroy  an  unbeliever  to 
secure  celestial  glory,  was  likewise  a  saint ;  and  we  also 
know  that  Christian  fakirs,  like  their  originals  in  India, 
were  canonized  by  the  Church ;  one,  because  he  had  doled 
out  a  miserable  existence,  squatted  and  squalid,  on  the  top 
of  a  high  pillar,  as  did  Symon  the  stylite;  another,  like 
St.  Francis,  because  he  had  lived  in  a  cave  in  rags  and  filth. 
One,  because  he  could  periodically  lash  and  persecute 
himself;  another,  because  he  could  systematically  lash 
and  persecute  somebody  else. 

Then,  besides  these,  there  is  a  curious  tribe  known  as 
National  Saints,  whose  annual  worship  is  generally  a  grand 
debauch,  and  whose  reputed  exploits  are  mostly  as  mythi- 
cal as  the  origin  of  the  saints  themselves.  St.  George  is 
venerated  in  England,  probably  because  he  is  said  to  have 
killed  a  fiery  dragon,  and  a  multitude  of  ignorant  Chris- 
tians actually  believe  that,  as  a  noted  bare  back  rider,  he 
performed  that  distinguished  feat.  St.  Patrick  is  almost 
adored  in  Ireland,  partly  because  it  is  believed  that  he 
banished  snakes  from  the  Emerald  Isle,  and  partly  be- 
cause, by  the  convincing  exhibition  of  a  simple  shamrock, 
he  so  impressed  the- minds  of  the  Pagan  Irish  as  to  make 
them  believe  that  there  were  three  superior  deities  instead 
of  one.  And  what  St.  Andrew  did  i'or  Scotland,  St.  David 
for  Wales,  St.  Dennis  for  France,  Augustine  for  the  Saxons, 
or  Boniface  for  Germany,  may  be  arrived  at  as  correctly 
by  a  simple  guess  as  by  the  perusal  of  any  particular  record 
in  their  behalf. 

Among  some  of  the  latest  worthies  which  the  Roman 
Church  has  authoritively  added  to  the  army  of  saints,  we 
find  the  name  of  Peter  D'Arbues,  who  was  Inquisitor  Gen- 
eral ot  Arragon  in  1484,  and  an  active  persecutor  of  heretics. 
Ignatius  Loyola,  the  gloomy  fanatic  and  founder  of  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


4Fi 


rrafty,  unscrupulous  order  of  Jesuits,  was  canonized  by 
Pope  rireffory  XV,  in  1662;  and,  centuries  before  that,  the 
savage  St.  Dominic,  who  advocated  and  secured  the  estab- 
lisliment  of  the  "Holy  Inquisition,"  and  who,  as  some 
assert,  was  the  first  Inqisitor  General  of  that  infamous 
tribunal,  was  officially  included  among  the  blest  by  Pope 
Gregorv  IX  in  1223.  This  very  St.  Dominic  was  he  who 
instigated  the  Pope  against  the  Albigenses,  and  who  aided 
and  encouraged  the  brutal  Montfort  in  a  further  course  of 
persecution. 

After  the  slaughter  at  Beziers,  Count  Simon  De  Mont- 
foft,  the  beloved  avenger  of  the  Church,  was  now  leader  of 
the  "Holy  Army,"  and  he  followed  up  his  atrocious  pro- 
ceedings in  different  places,  some  of  which  proceedings 
ar6  t  hus  recorded  by  Catholic  authors  :  "  He  took  several 
castles  which  resisted  the  Holy  Church,  and  hanged  of 
good  right  many  of  their  inhabitants  upon  gibbets,  which 
they  had  well  merited."*  Relative  to  another  i)lace,  the 
historian  says:  "  The  besieged,  wearied  out  with  a  long 
siege,  having  fled  during  the  night,  were  stoi)ped  by  our 
guards,  who  cut  the  throats  of  as  many  as  they  could 
find."t  And  of  ani)t  her  place:  "The  Count  Simon  having 
taken  the  castle,  caused  the  above  named  Aimrri,  a  nota- 
ble nobleman,  to  be  hanged  upon  a  gibbet,  also  a  small 
number  of  knights.  The  other  nobles,  with  some  who 
had  mixed  among  them  in  the  hope  that  the  knights  would 
be  spared,  to  the  number  of  about  eighty,  wore  put  to  the 
Bword,  and  lastly,  some  three  hundred  heretics  burnt  in 
this  world  were  thus  given  over  V)y  him  to  the  eternal  fire, 
and  Guirande,  the  lady  of  the  chateau,  cast  into  a  well, 
was  there  crushed  down  with  stones.  "| 

After  a  series  of  butcheries  dminj;  the  first  year  of  the 
crusade  against  the  Albigenses,  the  "  holy  army,"  with  its 
numerous  reinforcements,  commenced  its  second  year's 
campaign   by  taking,   with    other  places,  the    castle  of 


h 


m 


Vml 


.1 


*  Peter  of  Vaulx  CtTnay. 
t  William  of  Nangis, 
tPuy  Laurons. 


Hi 

i 

1!  '1 

'< ; 


ill 


ir    ii1: 


i 


46 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Bi'om,  when  about  one  hundred  of  its  defenders  were 
shockiu^ly  mutilated  ;  their  noses  were  cut  off,  and  their 
eyes  were  torn  out ;  but  one  individual  was  left  one  eye  so 
that  he  might  be  able  to  conduct  the  Cliristian  savages  to 
the  town  of  Carabat.  All  through  their  terrible  course 
the  taking  of  several  other  castles  and  towns  was  followed 
by  similar  atrocities ;  jorisoners  were  offered  the  choice  of 
apostasy,  or  fire,  or  mutilation.  When  Montfort  advanced 
to  the  attack  of  Toulouse  the  peasants  laboring  in  the 
field,  were  slaughtered— men,  women  and  children  were 
butchered— villages,  cottages,  and  farm  houses  were  burn- 
ed to  the  ground,  and  the  Poi)e's  legate  also  ordered  Ihe 
destruction  of  vines,  and  the  whole  of  the  standing  crops. 
Thus,  when  town  after  town  had  surrendered,  Montfort 
was  sure  to  order  the  execution  of  the  inhabitants,  and 
thus  for  over  twenty  years  were  the  Albigenses  persecuted 
and  slaughtered  by  the  unmerciful  hosts  of  the  Head  of 
the  Church. 

Among  the  mountains  in  the  north  of  Italy  there  was 
another  body  of  Christians  known  as  the  Waldenses ;  they 
were  not  identical  with  the  Albigenses,  but  were  different 
doctrinal^"  and  otherwise.  They  were  distinguished  for 
the  most  irreproachable  conduct,  and  a  more  inoffensive 
people  could  not  bo  found  in  all  Europe.  Claudius,  Arch- 
bishop of  Turin,  wrote:  "Their  heresy  excepted,  they 
generally  live  a  purer  life  than  other  Christians."  The 
charge  of  heresy  was,  however,  brought  against  them  and 
for  over  the  great  period  of  live  hundred  3^ears— from  1179 
to  1689— these  people  were  fearfully  harassed  by  the  dom- 
inant church.  The  first  edict  against  them  was  issued  by 
Pope  Alexander  III.  in  which  he  said :  "  We  therefore 
subject  to  a  curse  both  themselves  and  their  defenders  and 
harborers,  and  under  a  curse  we  i)ruhibit  all  persons  from 
admitting  them  into  their  houses— but  if  they  die  in  their 
sin  let  them  not  receive  Christian  burial.  .  .  We  likewise 
from  the  mercy  of  God,  and  relying  upon  the  authority 
of  the  blessed  Apostles  Peter  and  Paul,  relax  two  years 
of  enjoim  d  penance  to  those  faithful  Christians  who,  by 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


47 


the  counsel  of  the  bishops  or  other  prelates,  shall  tuke  up 
arms  to  subdue  them  by  fighting  against  them."  Soon 
after  numbers  of  these  people  were  burned  at  Bingen  and 
at  Mentz,  and  many  others  hunted  from  place  to  place, 
and  scattered  from  country  to  country  by  an  infuriated 
soldiery.  Another  edict  was  issued  against  them  by  Poi>o 
Lucius  III.  in  1181,  and  subsequently  by  other  Popes  and 
rulers.  Pope  Innocent  VIII.  in  1487  directed  his  nuncio 
and  the  Inquisitor  General,  Blasius,  **To  take  up  arms 
against  the  said  Waldenses  and  other  heretics,  and  to 
come  to  an  understanding  to  crush  them  like  venomous 
asps,  and  to  contribute  all  their  care  to  so  holy  and  so 
necessary  an  extermination  ;  "  and  afterwards  Pope  Pius 
IV.,  in  1560,  authorized  another  brutal  crusade  against 
them,  and  the  most  terrible  cruelties  were  again  almost 
unceasingly  perpetrated  down  to  the  year  1655,  when,  by 
the  interposition  of  Oliver  Cromwell,  of  England,  they 
were  partially  discontinued,  but  were  soon  again  renewed 
and  continued  until  1689. 

A  Catholic  writer  furnishes  a  narrative  of  one  of  tho 
atrocities  committed  against  the  Waldensos  in  1500,  and 
states:  "Having  written  you  from  time  to  time  what  ha? 
been  done  here  in  the  affair  of  heresy,  I  have  now  to 
infoim  you  of  the  dreadful  justice  which  began  to  be  exe- 
cuted on  these  Lutherans  this  morning,  being  the  11th  of 
June,  and  to  tell  you  tho  truth,  I  can  conipaie  it  to  noth- 
ing but  the  slaughter  of  so  many  sheep.  They  were  shut 
up  in  one  house,  as  in  a  sheepfold.  The  executioner  v;ent, 
and  bringing  out  one  of  them,  covered  his  face  with  a 
nai  kin,  or  benda  as  we  call  it,  led  him  out  to  a  field  near 
the  house,  and  causing  him  to  kneel  down,  cut  his  throat 
with  a  knife.  Then  taking  off  the  bloody  napkin,  he  went 
and  brought  out  another,  whom  he  put  to  death  after  the 
same  manner.  In  this  way  the  whole  number  of  eighty- 
eight  men  were  butchered.  I  still  shudder  when  I  thinly 
of  the  executioner  with  his  bloody  knife  in  his  teeth,  the 
drii)ping  napkin  in  his  hand,  and  his  arm  besmeared  with 
gore,  going  to  tho  house  and  taking  out  one  victim  after 


'rm 


J. 


m 


IF 


48 


THE  HEATHENS  Ok'  THE  HEATH. 


m  ' 


I  !!l!i 


!i  ill 


another,  just  as  a  butcher  does  the  sheep  he  means  to 
kill."*  Tomasso  Costo,  a  Catholic  historian,  also  wrote 
concerning  the  cruelties  to  the  Waldenses  :  "Some  had 
their  throats  cut,  others  were  8av;n  throu^4i  the  middle, 
and  others  thrown  from  the  top  of  a  high  cliff;  all  were 
juniolly  but  deservedly  put  to  death."  The  Waldenses, 
though  subjected  to  such  woful  persecution,  were  not  after 
all  exterminated ;  they  contended  for  liberty  of  opinion 
with  extraordinary  pertinacity ;  but  it  was  not  until  tlu; 
reign  of  Victor  Emanuel,  the  present  king  of  Italy,  that 
they  received  the  same  privileges  as  others. 

Esther  Meade  recalled  these  historical  facts  of  religious 
persecution  with  a  feeling  of  anguish  and  indignation. 
In  addition  to  these  cruelties,  she  had  to  remember  the 
terrible  Inquisition  with  its  dread  *  familiars,"  its  "  Holy 
Office,"  its  dungeons,  its  racks,  focvews,  pulleys,  weights, 
and  other  horrid  instruments  for  producing  the  most 
agonizing  torment.  In  imagination  she  could  enter  the 
gloomy  "  hall  of  torture,"  and  in  the  dim  light  she  could 
see  the  malignant  judges  of  that  infernal  court;  she  could 
see  the  rack,  and  the  waiting  executioner.  She  looks 
again,  and  oh!  fearful  scene!  She  sees  one  of  her  own 
sex,  she  sees  a  woman,  young,  and  once  beautiful,  but  now 
naked— yes,  actually  naked  -stretched  out  in  dire  agony, 
with  dislocated  limbs,  bleeding  and  fainting  before  men! 
Men?  No!  but  before  fiends  in  human  shape,  called— In- 
quisitors. There  thev  sit,  or  recline,  with  their  books  and 
crosses,  and  with  the  stolid  indifference  of  the  veriest  sava- 
ges. Alas !  alas !  no  soothing  voice  can  ever  more  be  heard, 
no  word  of  comfort  spoken  in  that  dolorous  hour,  no  tender 
human  heart  throbs  with  sympathy  for  that  poor  victim, 
no  eye  is  dimmed  with  pity  for  so  much  human  suffering, 
no  ear  is  pain<>d  to  hear  the  death  groans  of  that  delicate 
girl,  guilty  most  likely  of  no  offence,  save  that  of  having 
perhaps  spoken  lightly  of  some  suspicious  priest,  or  of 
some  absurd  rite  of  the  Church.    The  dew  of  death  is  upon 


'lu  alettei'to  Asoaiiio  Caraecioli-DgwUug's  Hist.  Ilomauiam, 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


49 


hoT  brow,  her  parted  lii)S  are  reddened  with  her  own  life 
blood,  her  clotted  hair,  her  bruised  body,  and  her  broken 
limbs,  elicit  no  word  of  remorse  for  her  agony  Alone  and 
unresisting  she  is  in  the  hands  of  her  brutal  persecutors ; 
the  muffled  walls  conduct  no  sound  of  her  distress  to  the 
outward  world,  it  is  shut  out  to  her  forever.  The  icy  hand 
of  the  last  deliverer  is  now  upon  her,  but  the  actual  stare 
of  death  is  less  terrible  to  her  closing  eyes  and  fading  vis- 
ion than  the  scowl  of  the  accursed  monsters  who  sit  before 
her  — the  clerical  monsters  of  the  holy  order  of  St. 
Dominic* 

Fearful  reminisence!  Miss  Meade  shudders  as  if  she 
were  an  actual  witness  of  that  scene  of  horror ;  but  soon 
another  view  is  presented.  It  is  a  gala  day  in  Madrid ;  it 
is  the  Christian  Sabbath.  The  pious  who  have  attended 
church  are  moving  towards  the  massive,  gloomy  building 
of  the  Inquisition.  The  Spanish  King  and  his  courtiers 
are  sitting  on  an  elevated  stage  which  is  richly  carpeted, 
and  the  royal  person  is  shaded  by  a  silken  canopy. f  There 
are  also  to  bo  seen  familiars  and  grandees  from  Cordova, 
and  from  other  cities.  Bishops  in  rich  robes  a  e  in  con- 
spicuous positions,  and  g^reat  numbers  of  priests,  monks 
and  friars,  attest  that  there  is  to  be  a  ceremony  of  some 
kind  in  which  the  Church  is  greatly  interested.  The  sun- 
beams flash  upon  the  mitres  and  crosses  of  ecclesiastics, 
and  upon  the  swords  and  spears  and  other  military 
weapons  of  the  armed  missionaries  of  the  "True Faith." 
All  present  seem  to  be  in  a  state  of  excited  expectation. 
But  hark!  a  bell  tolls— it  has  been  tolling  at  intervals 
since  the  early  dawn.  It  cannot  be  the  call  for  an  impos- 
ing or  brilliant  religious  ceremony ;  no,  'tis  a  death  knell, 
the  knell  for  another  dread  act  of  religious  i)ersecution. 
See !  There  is  now  a  movement  in  the  vast  crowd  in  front 
of  the  Inquisition ;  its  heavy  gates— like  the  gates  of  hell 
—yawn  wide,  and  a  procession,  as  if  intended  to  represent 

*  Described  from  a  similar  record  in  the  Hist,  of  the  Inquisition.— 
Moreri. 

t  Charles  II.  was  present  at  the  "  splendid  "  Auto  da  fe  of  1680  at 
Madrid.— Chamb.  Enc. 

8 


ii:  m 


^^ 


I 


3 


•Mii 


50 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  TH^  HEATH. 


"1; 
I 


l^ii 


.1 


an  egress  of  spirits  of  the  diimned,  moves  slowly  out. 
Domiiiiean  friars— call (fd  pious  men— are  in  advance,  bear- 
ing the  repulsive  banner  of  the  "  Holy  Inquisition,"  peni- 
tents, or  those  who  have  been  terrified  into  compliance, 
follow;  and  then  follow  the  bare-footed,  sad,  and  long 
array  of  those  who  are  destined  for  the  flames.     Some 
with  pallid  face  are  wounded  and  limping ;  some  are  too 
weak  and  emaciated  to  walk,  and  these,  with  others  whose 
bones  have  been  broken,  and  whose  flesh  has  been  man- 
gled by  the  torture,  are  rudely  borne  towards  the  guarded 
space  in  front  of  the   majesty,  the  episcopacy,  and  the 
nobility  of  Spain  ;  and  in  the  midst  of  the  fanatical  crowd 
whose  eyes  are  hungry  for  a  fresh  scene  of  torture.    The 
condemned  are  clad  in  the  yellow  Sanbenito,  disfigured 
with  infernal  effigies,  each  wears  the  coroza,  or  pointed 
cap  of  infamy,  and  holds  an  extinguished  torch ;  and  each 
is  attended  by  a  Jesuit  who  hurls  reproaches,  instead  of 
offering  a  word  of  pity  or  a  prayer  for  mercy.    They  hfive 
now  reached  the  great  cross  erected  in  the  field  of  the 
Cruz  del  Quemadaro,  the  place  of  execution ;  the  sentence 
is  read,  a  blow  is  given  to  each  of  the  condemned  by  one 
of  the  clerical  officers  of  the  Inquisition,  and  the  accused 
are  delivered  over  to  the  secular  power.    A  feeble,  formal, 
hypocritical  plea  in  their  behalf  is  muttered  by  a  priest— 
a  vile  deceit ;  for  the  stakes  are  fixed,  and  the  fuel  is  ready, 
and  the  condemned  are  chained  and  weeping.    There  is  no 
offering  of  mercy  in  reply  to  that  plea,  for  the  Christian 
king  ostentatiously  sends  his  gilded  and  adorned  fagot  to 
be  added  to  the  pile.    Oh  horror!    The  flames  ascend,  a 
hundred  human  beings  are  shrieking,  and  groaning,  and 
writhing   in    torture.     The   surrounding   multitude   are 
delighted,  and  thanks  to  God  are  given  by  the  king,  by 
the  priests,  and  by  the  people,  for  this  triumph  of  the 
True  Faith,  for  the  extirpation  of  so  much  heresy ;  and 
for  the  terrible  spectacle  of  another  Auto  dafe* 

*  On  the  12th  of  May,  1689.  eighty-three  heretics,  includinjr  twenty 
Jews,  were  burnt  by  the  Inquisition,  and  a  pile  of  wood  eighty  feet 
long  and  seven  feet  high  was  consumed  in  the  religious  ceremony. 


r 


■ 


CHAPTER    VI. 


"tue  christian  at  wokk." 

WHEN  one  is  in  a  reflective  mood  it  often  happens 
that  the  most  melancholy  ideas  will  present  them- 
selves to  the  mind ;  and  memory  seems  to  be  importuned 
to  add  link  after  link  to  a  chain  of  events  solely  relatinj,' 
to  the  sorrows  and  sufferings  of  mankind.  While  Thought, 
like  an  angel  of  hope,  has  most  delight  in  soaring  towards 
the  splendors  of  heaven,  it1ssometimosdoonied1<^descend 
and  to  flutter  like  a  bat  amid  the  gloom  and  the  ruins  of 
misery. 

Esther  Meade,  ever  pleased  to  reflect  upon  circumstances 
which  related  to  the  happiness  of  her  kind,  would  fain 
retain  ideas  of  all  that  had  been  conducive  to  earthly  bliss, 
but  now,  unable  to  control  her  thoughts,  they  seemed 
determined  to  rush  down  with  impetuous  haste  to  the 
very  confines  of  woe,  and  to  bring  back  to  her  view  some 
of  the  darkest  pictures  of  history. 

Nowhere  in  the  annals  of  cruelty  and  oppression,  can 
more  dreadful  events  be  discovered  than  those  whi^h 
relate  to  religious  persecution ;  such  events  were  now 
vividly  before  her  mind,  and,  upon  her  return  from  her 
early  ramble  to  the  bay,  she  could  think  of  but  little  else. 
She  tried  to  make  the  retrospection  more  agreeable,  but 
the  sad  review  of  the  past  continued  in  its  sullen  course, 
and  the  wholesale  destruction  of  human  life  caused  or 
directed  by  Dominicans,  Jesuits,  or  Inquisitors  General ; 
by  Torquemada,  by  Diego  Deza,  by  Spanish  Kings,  such 


n  *  n 


52 


TUK  HI.ATHKNS  OF   THE   HEATH. 


ti!! 


I 


I'll  i<i 


I'f, 


as  Chas.  I.  and  Philii)  II.,  and  by  tln^  monster  Alva,  who 
slaughtered  thousands  in  the  Netheilands,  simply  on  ac- 
count of  a  difference  of  opinion  in  matters  of  faith,  induced 
the  most  painful  reflections,  and  seemetl  to  verify  a  remark 
which  she  was  surprised  to  hear  her  father  once  make— 
"  That  Christianity  had  already  cost  the  world  over  fifty 
millions  of  human  lives." 

Christianity?  Impossible!  Thefaithof  a  true  Christian 
led  all  to  bear  reproach,  to  forgive  enemies,  and  to  be 
kindly  aflfectionate,  one  to  another;  even  that  faith  in  its 
most  adulterated  form  was  superior  to  anything  that  Pa- 
ganism had  produced ;  and  were  the  whole  world  control- 
led by  its  inspired  maxims,  what  love,  joy  and  peace 
might  exist  among  men ;  and  then  there  would  be  no 
more  war,  no  more  dissension,  no  more  persecution.  Alas ! 
how  stern  is  history  in  dealing  with  many  of  our  fondest 
delusions ;  a  id  how  many  thousands  are  rud  V  awakened 
to  discover  that  religious  devotion  is  too  of  he  prolific 
parent  of  debasing  superstition  and  cruelty. 

While  thinking  thus  fondly  of  the  just  tendency  of  her 
faith,  she  sat  before  a  window,  and  in  the  full  light  was 
looking  intently  at  what  appeared  to  be  a  coin  or  medal 
of  antiquated  appearance,  which  she  had  just  selected 
from  a  numif^niatic  collection  belonging  to  her  father. 
Now  she  turns  the  piece  in  her  hand ;  it  is  a  small  medal, 
an  ornament  which  was  perhaps  once  proudly  worn  or 
displayed  in  the  olden  time  by  some  pious  young  Christian 
lady  in  holiday  attire.  It  was  a  medal  made  to  commem- 
orate a  distinguished  triumph  of  the  Church  over  its 
enemies ,  and  though  its  i)rimitive  wearer  had  grown  from 
youth  to  age,  and  had  long  since  passed  away,  yet  there 
was  the  identical  memorial  still  left  to  tell  again  of  its  own 
origin.  Miss  Meade  once  more  holds  it  out  from  her ;  now 
draws  it  closer  and  lays  it  down.  She  takes  it  up  again, 
and  on  looking  closely  at  the  obverse  side,  she  sees  the 
stamped  effigy  of  a  Eonian  Pontiff  in  cap  and  buttoned 
cape,  and  around  it  the  words,  "Gregorius  XIII.  Pont. 
Max.  An.  I. ;"  and  then  on  turning  the  reverse  side,  she 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


53 


finds  the  representation  of  a  furious  winged  angol  with  a 
cross  exalted  in  one  hand,  and  a  sword  in  the  other,  pur- 
suing and  slaying  heretics,  while  surrounded  by  the  dead 
and  the  dying ;  and  over  all  this  she  could  read  the  signifi- 
cant inscription  :    *'  Hugonitonun  Strages  1572."* 

Being  in  a  contemplative  mood,  and  while  her  gaze  is 
fixed  upon  the  old  medal,  the  veil  is  again  lifted  and  she 
finds  herself  almost  in  the  centre  of  a  large  city— a  Chris- 
tian capital,  too;  for  there  are  many  great  churches  and 
tall  steeples,  and  numerous  crosses,  some  of  whifh  dre  up 
alone  among  the  scattered  night-clouds;  while  others 
gleam  in  the  clear  moonlight  of  the  open  sky.  It  is  ap- 
proaching the  hour  of  midnight,  the  air  is  calm  and  genial, 
and  there  are  many  sleepers  in  the  quiet  houses  around. 
There  are  but  few  revelers  to  bo  seen  in  the  streets,  yet 
occasional  sounds  of  distant  music  and  festivity  reach  the 
ear.  The  city  must  be  u  ly,  for  it  contains  thousands  of 
invited  strangers  who  had  come  to  witucs'=5  the  royal  mar- 
riage which  recently  took  place ;  but  many  of  the  wearied 
are  now  seeking  repose,  and  the  proud  Parisian  metropolis 
is  comparatively  still.  But  why  are  those  armed  bands 
moving  around,  and  whither  at  this  late  hour  moves  that 
column  of  soldiers,  whose  weapons  reflect  the  moon- 
beams ?  It  IS  not  a  time  of  war,  yet  armed  groups  of  citi- 
zens are  to  be  seen  at  almost  every  street  corner ;  and  a 
large  number  of  troops  are  assembled  near  the  royal  pal- 
ace. But  hark !  the  clock  strikes  twelve— it  is  midnight— 
the  bell  in  the  tower  of  the  Louvre  quickly  tolls  aloud  in 
the  clear  air,  and  the  lone  boom  of  a  heavy  gun  is  heard  in 
the  distance.  There  are  loud  shouts  and  confusion ;  there 
is  a  rush  of  armed  fanatics  into  a  chamber  where  a  wound- 
ed man  is  seeking  repose ;  he  is  guarded  by  sevetal  Swiss 
soldiers  who  are  speedily  cut  down  by  the  assassins  that 
have  entered;  the  wounded  man— the  Huguenot  leader, 
Admiral  Coligny— is  brutally  murdered,  and  his  mutilated 


1   ,♦  ' 

M 

m 


't 


•  In  pulling  down  the  old  mint  building,  Cowgate  Edinburg.  a 
specimen  of  the  medal  struck  by  Gregory  XIII.  to  commemorate  the 
massacre  of  St.  Bartholomew,  was  discovered. 


54 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


im 


it'i. 


I'Ki! 


body  tumbled  out  of  a  windcv  uito  the  street,  to  be  drag- 
ged .bout  by  an  infuriated  populace.  Shots  and  heavy 
firing,  and  shrieks  and  cries  of  distress  are  now  heard 
every  moment.  Huguenots,  trying  to  escape,  rush  franti- 
cally through  the  streets,  but  are  pursued  and  slaughtered 
by  the  yelling  savages  that  follow,  or  are  shot  down  from 
the  windows  of  the  houses.  Numbers  of  the  pursued, 
believing  that  the  king  will  surely  protect  them,  hurry 
onwards  to  the  Louvre,  but  Charles,  the  monarch  of 
France,  is  firing  on  them,  his  own  people,  from  an  upper 
window  of  the  palace,  while  several  of  his  attendants  are 
constantly  loading  guns  to  enable  him  to  shoot  a  greater 
number  of  his  Protestant  subjects. 

Ail  night  long  the  slaughter  continues,  and  fugitives 
are  hunted  from  place  to  place  in  every  quarter  of  the 
city.  By  grey  dawn  the  streets  are  encumbered  with  the 
murdered,  and  the  river  Seine  is  glutted  with  the  dead 
bodies  cast  into  it;  and  on  the  morning  of  the  25th  of 
A-ugust,  1572,  the  sun  shone  down  upon  bloody  pavements 
and  upon  heaps  of  intermingled  dead  and  dying,  even 
around  the  very  palace  of  the  Louvre;  and  soon  as  the 
butchery  wis  over,  Catherine  de  Medici,  of  pious  memory, 
queen  dowager  of  France,  gazed  with  satisfaction  upon  the 
havoc,  and  the  King  himself  went  out  to  see  the  hated 
slain,  and  to  look  upon  the  disfigured  body  ot  Coligny,  to 
whom  he  had  promised  friendship  and  protection ;  and 
whih)  stooping  over  his  slaughtered  people  he  expressed 
his  pious  felicity  by  saying  that  the  *' smell  of  a  dead 
enemy  was  agreeable."  Special  orders  were  then  given  to 
continue  the  carnage,  and  the  "Agents  of  Divine  Justice" 
in  their  eagerness  to  advance  the  True  Faith  deluged 
many  of  the  i  rench  provinces  with  blood,  until  the  exposed 
corpses  of  over  thirty  thousand  human  beings  tainted  the 
air  and  produced  wide  spread  infection.  The  Parliament 
of  France  publicly  eulogized  the  conduct  of  his  Christian 
majesty,  and  the  King  and  the  Court  returned  thanks 
to  God  for  HiS  signal  aid  in  crushing  out  so  much  heresy. 

In  great  haste  a  messenger  is  :lesiiatCx*ed  to  another 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


55 


city.  The  news  of  the  slaughter  at  Paris,  and  in  other 
parts  of  France,  is  the  cause  of  much  joy  and  congratula- 
tion even  within  the  sacred  walls  of  St.  Peters.  The  wel- 
come words  of  the  king's  message  which  said  that  **  the 
Seine  flowed  on  more  m.ajestically  after  receiving  the  dead 
bodies  of  the  heretics,"  is  received  by  the  Roman  Pontiff 
with  expressions  of  high  approval.  The  joy  in  Eome  is 
great ;  and  Pope  Gregory,  the  "  Vicar  of  Christ,"  attended 
by  his  cardinals,  goes  in  grand  procession  to  the  Church 
of  St.  Louis  to  sing  ''  Te  Deum  laudamus,"  and  to  return 
special  thanks  to  God  for  the  triumph  just  gained  over 
the  enemies  of  His  holy  Church.  The  Pope's  legate  in 
France  is  instructed  to  felicitate  "the  most  Christian 
King  Charles,"  and  to  asi^ure  him  that  his  Holiness 
"praised  the  exploit  so  long  meditated  and  so  happily 
executed  for  the  good  of  religion."  So  important  for  the 
advancement  of  the  Faith  is  the  slaughter  at  Paris  consid- 
ered, that  Pope  Gregory  orders  medals  to  be  struck  in 
honor  of  the  happy  event,  and  the  medal  at  which  Esther 
Meade  is  still  looking  is  one  of  those  designed  by  the  head 
of  the  Christian  Church  to  commemorate  the  dreadful 
massacre  of  the  Huguenots  at  Paris  on  St.  Bartholomew's 
day. 

So  far  the  sickening  remembrances  had  been  of  perse- 
cution by  the  Catholic  Church,  and  Miss  Meade  would 
have  made  a  plea  for  the  reformed  faith  by  trying  to  im- 
agine that  it  was  free  from  the  contaminations  of  Rome, 
and  therefore  not  subject  to  the  abominable  charge  of 
fanatical  cruelty.  She  would  even  have  charitably  shield- 
ed the  Popish  religion  from  the  terrible  accusations 
brought  against  it,  but  she  was  reluctantly  forced  to  admit 
that  that  religion  had  almost  desolated  the  earth;  and 
that  the  whole  system  of  paganism  had  never  equaled  the 
atrocities  committed  by  the  so-called  "Mother  Church." 
She  wished  to  believe  that  no  creed  whatever  emanating 
from  Christianity,  could  ever  be  so  debased  as  to  punish 
unto  death  for  opinion's  sake,  but  not  being  able  to  escape 
from  historical  facts,  she  hoiiod  to  find  competent  author- 


56 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ity  to  place  the  burden  of  that  iniquity  upon  Rome.  But 
what  sa  d  the  same  history  as  to  the  absurd  ideas,  the 
nonflicting  doctrines,  the  bitter  dissentions,  and  thf*  fierce 
persecutions  by  the  adherents  of  Protestantism  ?  Why 
that  Luther,  the  great  reformer,  was  so  superstitious  as  to 
l)elieve  that  epidemic  diseases,  earthquakes,  and  other 
evils,  were  produced  by  the  direct  agency  of  Satan.  He 
believed  that  the  Devil  had  often  disturbed  him  at  night ; 
he  believed  in  astrology,  and  that  the  peculiar  appearance 
of  the  nortliern  lights  on  a  certain  night,  indicated  the 
speedy  approach  of  the  end  of  sublunary  things.  He  was 
an  intolerant  bigot,  and  inveterate  against  those  who  op- 
posed him  •  he  would  have  shed  the  blood  of  the  Pope  and 
the  bishops ;  he  even  looked  upon  such  reformers  as  Carl- 
stadt,  Erasmus,  and  Zwingle,  as  rank  heretics,  and,  judged 
by  his  own  words,  he  would,  in  support  of  his  own  crude 
faith,  have  taken  human  life.  Luther  exhibited  great 
inhumanity  towards  the  Anabaptists,  and  his  disposition 
against  them  may  be  inferred  by  an  extract  of  a  letter 
which  he  addressed  to  his  friend,  Myconias ;  he  wrote :  "  I 
am  pleased  that  you  intend  to  publish  a  book  against  the 
Anabaptists  as  soon  as  possible.  Since  they  are  not  only 
blasphemous,  but  seditious  men,  let  the  sword  exercise  Its 
right  over  them.  For  this  is  the  will  of  God,  that  He  shall 
have  judgment  who  resisteth  the  power."  Luther,  even 
Luther,  therefore  wanted  only  sufficient  strength  and 
authority  to  be  a  t  heological  despot  and  a  persecutor. 

And  what  of  Calvin,  the  great  French  reformer?*    He 
was  a  gloomy  fanatic,  who,  filled  with  impious  zeal,  advo- 


♦  In  a  s*^rmon,  preached  at  Dundee,  Scotland,  the  preacher,  a 
Presbyterian  minister  made  the  following  remarks  on  Calvin: 

"He  was  harsh,  narrow,  dogmatic,  cold,  ctu«»l.  The  system  of 
polity  established  while  he  lived  in  Geneva,  was  worse  than  that 
which  prevailed  in  Naples,  under  Bomba.  It  was  a  system  of  brutal 
cruelty.  One  James  Gruet,  for  writing  some  loose  verses  was  behead- 
ed. Even  little  boys  and  girls  were  liable  to  capital  punisiiment  for 
trivial  offences.  And  need  he  name  Servetus,  a  name  which  despite 
the  one-sided  sophistry  of  Calvin's  defenders,  rested  like  a  bloody 
blot  ju  that  reformer's  urow," 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


t1 


cated  and  defended  the  burning  of  the  unfortunate 
Servetua  for  heresy;  and  he  gloried  over  the  infamous 
deed  when  he  wrote:  "Whoever  shall  contend  that  it  is 
unjust  to  put  heretics  and  blasphemers  to  death,  will  will- 
ingly and  knowingly  incur  their  very  guilt.  This  rule  is 
not  laid  down  by  human  authority,  but  it  is  God  himself 
who  speaks."  Another  reformer,  the  "meek  Melanc- 
thon,"  approved  of  the  vile  act,  and  declared  that  the  body 
of  Servetus  should  have  been  chopped  to  pieces,  and  his 
bowels  torn  out. 

Munzer,  a  disciple  of  Luther,  a  leader  and  a  preacher 
of  the  Anabaptists,  was  a  reckless  agitator.  Dissatisfied 
with  the  half  measures  of  the  reformers  ;  he  pulled  down 
the  images  which  Luther  had  left  standing  in  the  churches ; 
he  proclaimed  a  community  of  goods,  and  incited  his  fol- 
lowers to  plunder  the  houses  of  the  wealthy ;  and,  finally 
at  the  head  of  about  forty  thousand  turbulent  fanatics,  he 
ravaged  the  whole  country,  and  brought  destruction  upon 
himself  and  many  of  his  unreasoning  dupes. 

Overlooking  many  other  scenes  of  religious  infatuation 
and  cruelty  which  occurred  on  the  Continent,  the  spectre  • 
of  memory  moves  on  and  overshadows  England;  and 
there,  too,  the  fury  of  religious  strife  is  producing  its 
blighting  effects.  The  primitive  sect  has  been  almost  an- 
nihilated; and  frantic  zealots  are  in  the  arena.  Episco- 
palians, Presbyterians  and  Independents,  are  pursuing  one 
another  with  deadly  hostility.  Archbishop  Laud,  like  an 
Inquisitor  General  in  the  Star  Chamber,  is  furious  against 
seceders  and  non-conformists ;  and  in  his  holy  wrath  he 
crops  the  ears,  slits  the  noses,  and  otherwise  mutilates 
disaffected  Puritans.  Whatever  sect  is  in  temporary  power, 
and  most  patronized  by  rulers  or  by  royalty,  is  always 
most  oppressive ;  and  during  several  reigns,  according  as 
Prelacy,  or  Puritanism,  or  Presbyterianism  predominates, 
the  mutual  struggle  for  ascendency  devastates  the  land ; 
and  their  deej)  hatred  of  one  another,  as  well  as  their 
common  hatred  of  Popery,  is  productive  of  horrible  atro- 
cities. There  is  hanging,  and  burning,  and  quartering,  and 


Mil 


i 


6d 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


'i  r 


:  i. 


ill  J 


f. 

, ,  i. 

III"/ 

1 

ii' 

!i 

u    '      ' 

i 

;ij  ■ 

1 

.ii!  : 

■H 


disemboweling,  in  almost  every  part  of  the  kingdom,  in 
behalf  of  what  is  for  the  time,  the  '*  True  Faith ; "  and  the 
knife,  the  axe,  the  rack,  and  the  fagot,  are  readily  put  to 
fearful  use  even  in  Old  England. 

In  Ireland  the  penal  laws  against  Roman  Catholics  were 
most  shamefully  applied.  This  terrible  code  consisted  of 
over  one  hundred  acts  of  Parliament,  solely  enacted  for 
the  express  purpose  of  enforcing  Protestant  doctrines.  A 
Catholic  schoolmaster  dared  not  teach ;  and  neither  Cath- 
olic nor  Protestant  teachers  were  permitted  to  instruct 
Catholic  children.  A  Catholic  priest  dared  not  reside  in 
the  country  yithout  special  permission,  and  a  reward  was 
offered  for  the  discovery  of  any  priest  or  bishop  not  reg- 
istered as  having  such  license.  A  Catholic  priest  con- 
victed of  having  performed  any  religious  ceremony,  or  of 
having  married  a  Catholic  and  a  Protestant,  was  condemn- 
ed to  be  hanged ;  and  all  marriages  between  Catholics  and 
Protestants  were  annulled.  A  wife  on  becomii «?  a  Protes- 
tant could  take  the  entire  property  of  her  husband ;  and  a 
son,  by  a  Lke  change  of  faith,  might  dispossess  his  father. 
There  were  many  other  similar  enactments,  and  Catholics 
of  every  degree  were  sorely  oppressed ;  and  for  the  least 
opposition,  or  resistance  to  most  arbitrary  aws,  were 
liable  to  ruinous  forfeitures  or  death ;  and  the  most  inhu- 
man cruelty  and  slaughter  often  followed.  During  the 
long  period  of  this  terrible  oppression  in  Ireland,  thous- 
ands were  sent  to  bloody  and  untimely  graves,  and  if  the 
persecutions  by  Protestants  have  not  been,  perhaps,  as 
infamously  extensive  as  those  of  Catholics,  it  was  only 
because  the  venomous  power  of  Protestantism  was  too 
divided,  or  too  limited.  Protestantism,  as  well  as  Catho- 
licity, possessed  the  genuine  spirit,  the  vicious  animus, 
of  intolerance,  and  needed  only  the  requisite  strength  and 
domination,  to  equal,  or  even  to  surpass,  in  oppression 
and  savage  cruelty,  all  that  had  been  done  by  the  imperi- 
ous ecclesiastical  power  of  Rome. 

Were  the  angel  of  Destruction  required  to  speak  for  the 
many  slain  of  every  land,  he  might  say  that  the  moat 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


59 


dreadful  wars  which  have  taken  place  in  every  part  of  the 
globe,  were  caused  by  intriguing  priests,  or  by  the  viru- 
lence of  religious  feeling.  And  were  it  possible  for  an 
angel  of  Peace  to  re-animate  the  myriads  of  slaughtered 
men,  he  might  plead  that  they  should  be  placed  in  some 
world  where  there  was  no  priest,  no  prophet,  no  altar,  and 
no  temple ;  and  where  it  would  be  considered  the  vilest 
blasphemy  to  assert  that  the  Supreme  Being  could  be 
influenced  and  governed  by  passions  alike  to  those  of  man 
—by  anger,  by  hatred,  by  revenge.  And  the  angel  might 
then,  perhaps,  reveal  an  unwelcome  truth  by  announcing 
to  all,  to  the  Pagan,  to  the  Christian,  and  to  the  Moham- 
medan, that  priests,  and  their  pretensions,  and  their 
inspired  books,  had  as  yet  only  misled  humanity. 


i 


.'!  I 


iPHIH^ 


CHAPTER    VII. 


"the  christian  at  work." 


?l 


;l  1 


TTfTEARIED  by  these  sad  reflections,  Miss  Meade 
^^  sought  a  little  relaxation.  Her  father  had  been 
absent  all  day,  and  now  it  bein-^  evening  time,  she  set 
out  to  pay  a  visit  to  old  Sarah  Afton,  whose  cottage  wasi 
but  a  short  distance  from  the  parsonage.  She  found  its 
inmate  at  her  spinning  wheel,  and,  as  usual,  in  a  con- 
versable mood.  Old  Sarah,  though  very  credulous  and 
superstitious,  was  rather  intelligent.  She  lived  almost 
alone,  her  only  household  companion  being  a  little  orphan 
girl. 

"Eh,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you,  young  lady;  I'm  glad 
you've  called  again ;  I've  had  scarcely  a  visitor,  and  I've 
been  a  bit  lonesome.  Bless  you,  take  a  seat  near  me,  and 
let  me  see  your  pleasant  face.  I've  been  thinking  of  old 
times— and  what  times  those  are  to  think  of,  to  be  sure  — 
and  this  very  day  brings  something  sorrowful  to  my  mind 
—it  is  an  eventful  day  even  in  my  own  poor  life." 

"  Oh,  nothing,  I  trust,  very  serious,  mother  ?  "  said  Miss 
Meade. 

"Mother!  ah,  you  always  call  me  mother;  'tis  a  pleasant 
name.  I  think  every  woman  would  like  to  be  called 
mother,  and  to  be  a  mother,  though  I've  never  been  one 
—nor  even  a  wife.  Well,  deary,  'tis  sometimes  sad  even 
to  think.  Almost  every  memory  seems  mournful  to  the 
aged,  and,  as  I  am  now  long  past  life's  three  score  years 
and  ten,  my  thoughts  are  often  bU^ak  enough.    Ah  me! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  BeaTH, 


ei 


all  I  used  to  know  at  your  age,  where  are  they  ?  Only  one 
l)oor  old  soul  left— only  one ;  except  my  sister's  grand-son, 
and  'tis  hard  to  tell  on  what  part  of  the  wide  ocean  he  is 
just  now.  But,  sweet  lady,  I  will  not  burden  your  cheer- 
ful mind  with  any  troubles  of  the  past.  You  know  your 
good  father  sometimes  tells  us,  that  'suiliciont  to  the  day 
is  the  evil  thereof.' '' 

"  Well,  but  you  may  tell  mo  your  troubles,  mother, 
unless  you  v.-ish  to  keep  them  a  secret;  we  all  have  sor- 
rowful thoughts  at  times ;  and  a  grief  may  be  blunted  by 
telling  it  to  a  friend." 

"I  have  few  secrets  from  you,  deary— few  indeed  from 
anybody.  I  have  told  you  about  many  of  the  sad  acts  that 
took  plaice  hereabouts,  years  ago ;  I've  shown  you  the  spots 
where  poor  creatures  were  killed,  and  whcm  we  walked 
over  there  among  the  old  graves,  where  many  a  monk  lies 
buried,  I've  shown  you  where  they  said  that  martyrs 
were  burnt;  and  you  know  the  lone  spot  where  I  told  you 
that  my  great-grandfather  lost  his  life,  don't  you  ?  " 

Miss  Meade  nodded  assent,  and  old  Harah  wont  on. 

"Well,  its  over  a  hundred  years  ago,  this  very  second  of 
May,  since  that  poor  man  met  his  ond;  and,  strange  to 
tell,  about  a  hundred  years  before  that,  on  the  very  same 
day  of  the  month,  too,  his  grandfather  was  shot  by  Claver- 
house." 

"  By  Claverhouso  ?  "  Miss  Meade  interrogated,  as  if  she 
had  forgotten  such  a  name. 

"Yes,  by  the  '  bluidy  Claverhouse,'  as  the  Scotch  called 
him.  He  overtook  the  poor  man  and  two  other  Covenan- 
tors out  on  a  moor,  and  he  ordered  his  troopers  to  shoot 
thom  ;  the  three  graves  are  there  to  this  day.'' 

"  Yes,  I  now  remember,"  said  Miss  Moade.  "  The  Cov- 
enanters suffered  terribly  in  the  south,  and  in  the  west  of 
Scotland;  the  Prelatists  were  their  bitter  perM«'cutors." 

"  Aye,  deary,  there  are  many  graves  all  over  those  wild 
moors.  The  Covenanters,  poor  bodies,  wore  hunted  from 
place  to  place  by  day  and  by  night;  Claverhouso  and  his 
troopers  gave  them  little  rest.    You  know  that  the  Prut- 


4*  ;  Jl 

62 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


: 


^: 


!'8 

1       ,    •,. 

|t:T 


1 

I-  . 

V  '    i 

ll 

!•-' 

.J 

|-;j 

t 

estant  curates  of  those  days—not  like  some  of  our  good 
curates— were  a  set  of  carousing,  godless  men,  who  wanted 
to  force  all  to  attend  the  parish  church ;  and  in  order  to 
find  out  the  ones  that  went  to  Conventicles,  they  gave  the 
sojers  the  names  of  almost  every  one  in  a  parish;  the 
sojers  stood  outside  the  church  on  Sundays,  and  took 
down  the  names  of  the  folks  that  came  out,  and  all  they 
found  absent  were  at  once  marked  suspected.  The 
'  bluidy  council, '  as  it  was  called,  that  sat  in  Edinboro', 
ordered  the  sojers  to  do  the  bidding  of  the  curates,  and 
then  Claverhouse  and  his  troopers  did  the  rest.  Ah  me ! 
There  were  curious  warnings  given  in  those  times  of  what 
was  going  to  happen.  Armed  horseman  used  to  be  seen 
galloping  up  steep  hills  that  a  goat  could  hardly  climb, 
men  without  heads  used  to  be  seen  standing  in  lonesome 
places ;  blood  sf)ots  would  come  in  bibles  while  some  poor 
body  was  reading;  and  crowds  of  sojers  would  be  seen 
marching  through  the  moors,  and  then  vanishing  in  a 
moment.  This  is  what  was  known  in  Scotland  as  the 
'  killing  time,'  and  the  poor  Covenanters  had  to  flee  to  the 
glens,  and  the  moors,  and  to  caves,  and  other  wild  places, 
but  they  were  watched,  and  hunted,  and  slaughtered,  day 
and  night  without  mercy ;  and  often,  after  they  had  met 
to  worship  in  some  dark  glen,  Claverhouse  would  pounce 
upon  them  unexpectedly,  and  then  there  was  bloody 
work. 

Thoy  prayed  on  the  hillside,  and  sung  in  the  glen, 
In  wilds  far  remote  from  the  scofflngs  of  men ; 
Yet  the  friends  of  the  Lord,  oft  in  pitiful  plight, 
Had  to  flee  from  the  foe  in  the  dead  of  the  night. 

A  sweet  Sabbath  came,  and  the  saints  met  once  more, 
To  pray  in  the  desert  like  others  of  yore; 
But  the  troopers  rushed  on  them,  by  Claverhouse  led, 
Thei-e  were  graves  to  be  dug  for  the  dying  and  dead. 

Old  Sarah  repeated  these  verses  from  memory.  "Ah 
me!  •'  she  continued,  "but  it  was  dreadful  to  hear  tell  of 
it.  They  tried  every  way  to  discover  the  hiding  places  of 
the  poor  creatures. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


63 


The  dragoons  once  took  a  little  boy  of  ten  years,  and 
as  he  would  not  tell  them  where  his  father  was,  they  tied 
a  cord  round  his  thumbs,  and  suspended  the  terrified  lad 
before  his  mother,  and,  though  he  was  in  great  agony,  he 
would  tell  them  nothing ;  they  then  held  his  face  over  a 
large  fire  till  his  eyes  were  ready  to  start  out,  and  his  ten- 
dor  skin  to  crack,  yet  still  he  would  not  answer ;  he  was 
then  dragged  outside  and  the  soldiers  told  him  they  would 
blow  out  his  brains.  They  took  another  boy  and  tied  a 
cord  round  his  brow,  and  twisted  it  with  the  butt  end  of  a 
pistol,  till  the  flesh  was  cut  through  to  the  bone,  so  that 
the  poor  boy  died.  When  they  didn't  kill  outright  they 
tortured  men  and  women  in  many  ways.  They  stifled 
them  in  crowded  vaults,  they  tied  men  down  upon  their 
backs,  and  put  lighted  matches  between  the  fingers  of 
both  hands,  until  their  very  finger  bones  were  sometimes 
burnt  to  ashes ;  and  many  others  were  starved  to  death  in 
prison.*  'Tis  dreadful  to  think  of,  young  lady;  for  they 
often  killed  women  as  well  as  men.  I've  also  heard  tell 
of  how  they  shot  poor  Marion  Cameron  at  Cumnock. 
This  poor  thing,  with  a  few  other  women,  were  singing 
hymns  in  a  green  hollow  place  in  the  moss  of  Daljig,  when 
a  lot  of  troopers  came  along,  by  chance,  and  shot  them 
all.  They  were  buried  side  by  side  on  the  moor.  But  I 
think  that  the  murder  of  poor  Priesthill,  or  John  Brown, 
the  pious  carrier,  was  one  of  the  most  dreadful.  The  poor 
man,  having  risen  early,  went  out  to  dig ;  he  was  suddenly 
seized  by  a  company  of  horsemen,  who  drove  him  before 
them.  Isabel,  his  wife,  on  looking  out,  saw  him,  and, 
snatching  up  her  infant,  exclaimed,  "O!  Lord,  give  me 

*  Dunnotar  was  a  noted  place  for  the  persecution  of  Covenanters. 
There  is  a  tombstone  in  the  church  yard  of  that  place  bearing  the 
following  inscription : 

"Here  lie  John  Scott,  James  Aitchison,  James  Russel.  and  William 
Brown,  and  one  whose  name  we  have  not  gotten ;  and  two  women 
also  whose  names  we  know  not.  and  two  who  perished  doune  the 
rock ;  and  one  whose  name  was  James  Watson,  the  other  not  known, 
who  all  died  prisoners  in  Dunnotar  Castle,  Anno  1685,  for  their  adher- 
ence to  the  Word  of  Qod  and  Scotland's  Covenanted  work  of  Reform- 
ation." 


'9^ 


I 


i 


:tH 


64 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


';  ! 


11 


grace  for  this  hour."  She  went  out,  and  for  the  first  time 
saw  the  dreaded  Claverhouse;  and  then  she  knew  her 
j?roat  trial  had  come.  Her  husband  was  told  to  kneel  on 
the  wet  sod,  and  to  prepare  for  death.  The  poor  man 
knelt  down  with  great  calmness,  and  prayed  long  for  his 
enemies  before  him ;  he  then  pleaded  pitifully  for  his  wife 
and  children,  and  then  he  embraced  them  tenderly,  and 
left  them  to  God.  Many  of  the  rough  soldiers  had  tears 
in  their  eyes,  and  would  have  wept  outright,  only  they 
were  afraid.  Claverhouse  was  impatient  at  so  much  de- 
lay, and  told  his  men  to  fire.  The  pieces  were  leveled — 
there  was  a  pause— poor  Isabel's  sobs  were  alone  heard, 
but  not  a  gun  went  off;  the  poor  man  before  them,  still 
calmly  bowed  and  kneeling,  awaiting  his  fate. 

"God  bless  your  tender  hearts,"  said  the  weeping 
woman.  "O!  spare  him  to  us,  and  the  Lord  will  have 
mercy  on  you  another  day.  Spare  him,  good  men,  for  the 
sake  of  his  poor  children !  "  The  savage  Claverhouse  then 
grew  furious;  he  swore  fearfully  against  the  soldiers,  and 
rudely  pushed  Isabel  aside ;  he  placed  his  pistol  close  to 
the  ear  of  the  kneeling  man,  and  blew  out  his  brains. 

When  the  deed  was  done,  Claverhouse  shouted  out, 
"  What  thinkest  thou  of  thy  husband  now,  woman  ?"  "I 
ever  thought  muckle  gude  of  him,"  said  she,  "and  now 
mair  than  ever. "  "  It  would  be  but  justice  to  lay  thee  beside 
him,"  replied  Claverhouse.  "  I  doubt  not,  replied  she, 
"  but  your  cruelty  would  lead  you  to  that  length ;  but  how 
will  you  answer  to  God  for  this  morning's  work  ?  "  "To 
man  alone,"  he  said,  "  I  can  be  answerable ;  as  for  God,  I 
will  take  him  in  my  own  hands."  After  the  departure  of 
the  troopeys,  poor  Isabel  tied  up  the  shattered  head  of 
her  husband  with  a  napkin,  and  then  drawing  her  chil- 
dren to  her,  she  wept  with  them  long  and  loud  over  the 
mangled  body,  and  for  the  time  would  not  be  comforted. 
Poor,  poor  woman,  she  needed  God  to  comfort  her  then ; 
and  strange  to  tell,  the  whole  thing  was  foretold  to  her 
the  day  of  her  wedding;  the  minister,  a  Mr.  Peden,  said, 
"Isabel  Weir,  Isabel  Weir,  keep  a  winding  sheet  beside 


II    !, 


t 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


C5 


I 


you,  for  it  may  be  hastily  needed  some  misty  morning;  " 
and  alas!  so  it  was.* 

Throughout  tlie  sad  recital,  Miss  M  .tde  was  much 
affected.  The  simple  narrative  had  readily  touched  her 
heart ;  but  then  she  had  to  remember  with  some  reluct- 
ance, that  many  of  the  persocnited  Covenanters  who  had 
escaped  from  Scotland,  and  most  of  the  oppressed  Puri- 
tans who  had  left  England,  after  having  landed  at  Ply- 
mouth Rock  in  America,  and  in  their  eager  desire  to  force 
their  faith,  or  their  peculiar  doctrines  on  others,  had 
united  to  establish  an  iron  rule  of  religious  (lespotism; 
the  infamous  Blue  Laws  had  been  enacted  by  them; 
they  had  burnt  so-called  witches ;  they  had  despoiled, 
mutilated,  and  hung  unoffending  Quakers,  and  for  nuiny 
years  their  course  had  been  one  of  brutal  fanati»;ism  in 
the  land  of  their  adoption.  So  atrocious  were  most  of 
their  proceedings,  that  the  name  of  Puritan  is  now  held 
by  many  as  the  synonym  for  bigotry  and  intolerance. 

Just  as  old  Sarah  had  ceased  speaking,  she  looked  at  a 
shadow  which  moved  slowly  along  the  little  winding 
pathway  close  to  the  cottage.  In  a  few  moments  a  very 
old,  grey-headed  man  stood  bent  before  them  in  the  open 
doorway.  As  he  leaned  with  both  hands  ui»on  his  staff, 
the  few  thin,  white  hairs  which  hung  below  his  broad 
brimmed  hat  were  scarcly  stirred  by  the  evening  air  ;  but 
the  setting  sun  which  fell  upon  his  meek,  sad  face,  had 
burnished  his  scanty  locks,  as  if  to  restore  the  golden 
hue  which  they  had  in  his  boyhood.  Old  Sarah  got 
up  immediately  and  went  to  meet  him  at  the  door;  he 
gently  took  her  extended  hand,  and  she  led  him  to  a  seat 
by  her  side.  The  old  man's  smile  was  radiant  as  he  bow- 
ed to  Miss  Meade ;  and  he  muttered  some  words  of  thanks 
to  Sarah. 

"Well,  Stephen,  I  thought  you  had  forgot  me;  you've 
been  away  nearly  two  days,  and  you  know  that  on  this 
day,  above  all  others,  you  should  have  been  here  early. 


\\\ 


!< 


See  Wodrow's  Hist,  of  Porseciition  of  Scottish  Covenanters. 


II*  *■ 


66 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HKATH. 


1 1 


I!   .*' 


'!•>', 


m 


Nearly  two  days  is  a  long  time  for  me  not  to  see  you, 
Stephen ;  a  long  time,  when  time  is  sometimes  so  long  to 
me." 

"I  haint  forgot  thee,  Sarah,"  replied  the  old  man 
mildly.  "  'Twould  be  too  late  in  life  to  forget  thee  noo, 
thoo  knows  that,  lass;  but  I've  been  a  bit  busy  to-day  1' 
the  church,  and"  said  ho  lowering  his  voice,  "I've  been 
aroond  the  old  spot  again,  a  looking  for  that— aeems  they 
won't  give  it  up  yot— best  to  search  no  more;  but  still 
thoo  says  it  maun  coom  sume  time  yet  afore  we  dee.  Well, 
I  gav  it  oop  again  to-day,  and,  as  the  e'en  appeared,  I  felt 
a  bit  lonesome,  and  wanted  to  see  thee  again  afore  the 
night  cam." 

The  setting  sunlight  was  upon  the  old  man's  face  as  he 
looked  up  at  Sarah,  and  the  expression  of  his  countenance 
was  most  placid  and  benevolent.  Old  Sarah  placed  her 
hand  upon  his  uncovered  head,  and  looked  tenderly  into 
his  eyes— tenderly  as  a  fond  mother  would  look  at  her 
child ;  at  that  particular  moment  her  youth  seemed  to  re- 
turn, and  one  might  fancy  that  she  was  a  maiden  again, 
looking  almost  as  beautiful  as  of  yore. 

"  Poor  Stephen !  When  will  that  night  come  that  must 
separate  us  V    When  ?   It  can't  be  far  off  now,  Stephen  ?  " 

Sarah's  voice  trenibled  as  she  spoke,  and  the  old  man 
seemed  to  look  vacantly  at  a  shadow  out  upon  the  green 
sward  before  the  door,  as  he  softly  said : 

"It  must  coom,  lass,  it  must  coom;  maybe  soon,  too; 
but  then  we  maun  meet  again.  Thoo's  got  my  promise, 
and  I've  got  thine,  that  who  goes  into  the  night  first,  maun 
coom  back  t'  totlier ;  I'll  keep  my  word  lass,  and  I  well 
know  that  thou'lt  keep  thine.  Mayhap  we  may  both  gan 
off  together,  and  then  we  shall  be  as  one  at  last  upon  that 
t'other  shore." 

Miss  Meade  was  aware  that  there  was  some  peculiar 
bond  or  relation  between  these  two  old  people.  She  had 
more  than  once  been  present,  and  had  heard  their  expres- 
sions of  mutual  esteem,  if  not  of  tenderness  ;  and  had  just 
witnessed  a  touching  dis[>lay  of  affection,  but  the  real 


■  "'I. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


67 


nature  oft  he  tie  she  as  yet  knew  not.  They  were  undoubt- 
edly the  oldest  persons  in  the  parish ;  they  were  not  rela- 
tives, and  old  and  young  looked  upon  them  with  the 
kindliest  feelings. 

Stei)hen  Gray,  for  that  was  the  old  man's  name,  though 
better  known  by  all  as  Old  Stephen,  had,  so  far,  six'ut 
nearly  the  whole  of  his  life  at  Pondell.  He  was  some 
years  older  than  Sarah  Afton,  and  like  her  had  never  been 
married,  and  had  neither  kith  nor  kin  that  he  knew  of  in 
the  land  of  the  living.  Any  way,  he  se<'med  content  to 
remain  near  Sarah,  whom  he  had  known  from  youth,  and 
to  finish  the  journey  of  life  in  the  little  cottage,  or  rather 
hut,  that  he  had  so  long  occupied.  This  humble  abode 
was  near  the  church,  even  within  the  enclosed  graveyard, 
and  he  appeared  to  like  his  home  all  the  better  because  it 
was  so  near  that  spot  to  which  he  expected  to  be  removed 
before  many  years.  Stephen  had  been  sexton  at  Pendell 
even  before  Mr.  Meade  had  become  the  curate,  b'ut  age 
had  incapaciated  him  to  some  extent,  and  for  a  long  period 
his  principal  duty  was  merely  to  keep  the  church,  and  a 
few  old  family  tombs  in  order,  and  to  have  a  kind  of 
supervision  over  minor  matters  connected  with  the  church 
and  the  cemetery.  At  leisure  hours  lie  seemed  to  take  a 
quiet  pleasure  in  wandering  amon^  the  many  graves,  as 
if  to  commune  with  the  dead,  or  as  if  anxious  to  recall  to 
remembrance  some  of  those  who  had  long  passed  away ; 
he  could,  however,  almost  readily  point  out  the  resting 
places  of  nearly  all,  simple  or  gentle,  who  had  died  in  the 
parish  during  the  last  fifty  years ;  and  wanderers  who  had 
been  long  absent  in  foreign  lands,  upon  their  return  had 
only  to  apply  to  Stephen  to  be  shown  the  grave  of  a 
father,  or  a  mother,  which  no  other  person  could,  perhaps, 
discover. 

^tfiss  Meade  was  very  partial  to  old  Stephen,  he  was  as 
gentle  and  submissive  as  a  child,  and  was  always  pleased 
when  she  asked  him  to  do  her  a  service.  In  one  respect, 
he  was  very  useful  to  her.  She  was  passionately  fond  of 
music,  and  was  acknowledged  to  be  one  of  the  finest  or- 


r 


■5 


:, 


vWl 


f,  i 


I  •• 

1 

^  :ntii 

f  ^' 

'  wf 

m 

1 

1 

1 

' 
't 

1:  i,L 


mn  ui, 


m 


i''*' 


iif,;l-i 


i 


lli;.' 


68 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ganists  within  the  bounds  of  several  counties.  Indeed, 
j^ood  judges  had  often  asserted  that  all  she  had  to  do  was 
to  go  to  London  to  secure  a  high  position  as  a  performer 
on  that  instrument;  at  all  events,  it  might  be  truly  said, 
that,  owing  to  her  splendid  execution  on  the  organ,  her 
father's  congregation  had  been  more  regular  in  attend- 
ance at  church  than  they  would  have  beoa  if  left  only  to 
the  attraction  of  his  best  sermon,  or  to  the  more  vapid  or 
grandiloquent  ones  of  the  rector  or  l)ishop.  Her  most 
thrilling  effects  on  that  instrument  were,  however,  made 
when  she  was  alone,  or  at  least  when  no  one  was  present 
in  the  old  church  but  herself  and  Stephen  ;  and  whenever 
she  felt  troubled  or  dispirited,  she  would  wait  up  until 
jilmost  all  in  Pendoil  had  retired,  and  then  call  upon  him. 
Stephen  would  open  the  church,  and  attend  her  were  it 
midnight ;  and  when  he  had  learned  that  she  did  not  wish 
to  have  it  known  that  she  practised  or  played  thus  pri- 
vately, he  kept  the  matter  a  secret — even  from  old  Sarab- 
and the  few  who  chanced  to  hear  the  organ  at  late  hours, 
(juickly  circulated  the  report  that  the  exquisite  midnight 
music  was  i^roduced  in  the  sanctuary  by  some  supernat- 
ural agency,  or  by  the  wandering  ghosts  of  the  monks  of 
other  days. 

A  short  time  after  sunset,  Miss  Meade  left  Sarah's  cot- 
tage, but  before  she  went  away,  she  beckoned  to  old 
Stephen,  and  when  he  got  to  the  open  door,  she  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  his  ear;  he  slowly  bent  his  head,  as 
if  in  compliance  with  some  request,  and  in  a  few  hours 
afterward,  when  the  night  was  dark,  he  stood  just  outside 
the  porch  of  the  old  church,  holding  its  heavy,  rusted  key. 
He  had  not  been  long  there  before  Miss  Meade  came  glid- 
ing along  the  grave-bordered  pathway.  Not  a  word  was 
si)oken ;  she  merely  put  her  hand  quietly  upon  his  shoul- 
der, the  massive,  worn  door  then  swung  slowly  upon  its 
grating  hinges;  and  they  both  went  into  the  dimness  of 
the  silent  sanctuary. 

Had  some  spirit  of  a  sainted  martyr  entered  the  vener- 
able building  to  invoke  divine  aid,  no  pleading  petition 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


fiO 


could  be  more  tender  or  affecting  than  the  pathetic  sounds 
which  were  now  audible ;  had  some  poor  tortured  heretic 
been  bending  before  a  cruel  inquisition,  there  could  be 
heard  no  more  tremulous  appeal  for  mercy.  There  came 
with  those  same  sad  sounds,  the  weeping  of  woe,  the 
depths  of  despair,  the  sobbing  of  the  sorrowful,  the  hope- 
less beseeching  of  the  condemned,  and  the  very  groans 
of  the  dying ;  and  then  the  shout  of  the  bigot,  the  fury  of 
the  fanatic,  and  the  crash  of  destruction,  rushed  wildly 
along  aisle  and  chancel,  and  thundered  in  every  vacant 
cell  and  empty  vault.  After  a  soloiiin  pause,  there  then 
followed  the  mourner's  prayer,  touching  and  exquisite, 
closing  with  the  soft  voices  of  angels,  which  gradually 
died  away  in  whispers  of  peace  and  hope  for  the  wounded 
heart. 

The  church  was  again  closed;  old  8toi)lien  plodded 
slowly  homeward.  Of  what  has  he  been  thinking?  had 
those  angel  voices  toufhod  his  heart?  for  bofoie  he  en- 
tered his  humble  abode,  he  had  more  tlian  once  to  wipe 
away  the  tears  wiiich  had  suffused  his  eyes. 

By  this  time  the  night  had  grown  somewhat  stuiii.y, 
and  Esther  Meade,  feeling  rather  discomi)(»scd,  was  led  by 
her  adventurous  i;i)irit  down  to  her  favorite  station  at  the 
Bay.  To  see  the  ocean  in  its  wildest  state,  was  to  her  at 
all  times  a  magnificent  sight,  and  now  her  eyes  could  be 
gratitieu  to  the  fullest  extent.  The  wind  liud  greatly  in- 
creased, and  the  upheaval  of  distant  billows  could  be  seen 
along  the  troubU'd  line  of  the  horiz<m;  the  light-house, 
away  out,  being  sorn«'times  scarcely  visible  in  t!ie  commo- 
tion. Now  th<'  hoars^f  dirge  of  the  gale  se(>nied  to  wail 
out  from  the  bursting  Vx/Aom  of  the  deoi>;  now  there  is  a 
lull,  and  again  the  wifi'l  swells  upon  the  ear  like  a 
melancholy  cadence;  ihe  savage  surf  is  iK^aid  like  the 
clash  of  cymbals;  and  the  rush  of  wat«M'  along  the  shore 
or  into  numerous  caves,  comes  like  distant  voices,  or  re- 
sounding echoes.  Amid  this  wiki  chf»rus  of  sounds,  Miss 
Meade  almost  fancied  herself  in  attendance  at  a  grand 
concert  of  thousands;  and  the  tall,  beacon  tower,  with  its 


i    it 

i  i 

-f       '-' 

•1- 

'■-.         ,■ 

!fl 


!f 


X 


•I. 


70 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


revolving  light,  seen  looming  up  at  times  among  the 
breakers,  was  then  to  her  like  the  conductor  of  the  im- 
mense orchestra,  swinging  his  baton  of  flame  w.hile  beat- 
ing time  for  the  wave&. 


t 


r  ) 


ill 

il 
It"' 


'  1  \%' 

CHAPTER    VIII. 


A    MISSIONARY    WANTED. 


A   DEEARY  plain,  almost  a  desert  plain,  in  Winter  a 


IV 


wild  waste,  bleak  and  inhospitable ;  in  Summer  time 


brown,  arid  and  dusty;  a  few  stunted  or  withered  looking 
trees  here  and  there ;  scarcely  a  shrub,  or  a  green  herb, 
and  very  little  grass  to  be  seen,  scanty  shade  or  covert  for 
man  or  beast ;  no  clear  stream  to  invite  the  thirsty  travel- 
er, but  stagnant  pools  in  dc^p,  muddy  pits,  with  slushy 
margins,  disfigured  the  surface  of  heathy  grouad,  giving 
the  whole  an  unsightly  appearance.  A  wild  place  where 
one  would  fancy  that  thieves,  or  Thugs,  might  roam  with 
impunity.  A  place  for  robbery,  or  a  place  for  murder ; 
and  a  place  where  no  doubt  these  crimes  had  been  com- 
mittf  1.  On  tbe  north,  in  the  distance,  this  wide  plain  was 
bounded  by  rising  gronind,  near  which  were  several 
wretched  loukin:;  huts,  imhabited  by  human  beings  appar- 
ently the  most  -psailid  and  destitiitje.  At  tirat  view  one 
would  suppose  the  men  to  be  the  veriest  savages,  the 
women  the  mo^t  decrraded,  and  tlie  children,  ragged  and 
filthy,  the  mom  forsaken.  Poverty,  ignorani^e,  supersti- 
tion, and  crime,  seemed  to  have  redwrf^d  them  to  the  lowest 
condition,  and  to  have  left  tjae  iarke«t  impress  upon  the 
people  and  tlieir  surrruundin-ry  dnid  a  ]>i<^us  humanitarian 
upon  visiting  these  uicasi-  ^'•lit  readily  imagine  that 
he  was  in  some  far  »rf.  b*"  .lod  lanvl,  among  a  brutal 
race,  where  life  wa-  n^t^ti;  .  among  tli*''  lowest  caste  of 
men,  with  whom.  mtsn-Jiii*,  if  such  wece  over  known,  was 


k 


liii  ^ 


72 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


1 

!  !  i 

ill' 

1    ]\ 

1  il, 

11 

11 
'1 

^• 


it 


nil    ; 


but  riotous  bloo'lshed ;  amonpr  idolaters,  where  the  deep 
ruts  of  the  car  wheels  of  Juggernaut  could  be  seen  on  the 
highways,  or  a  rude  temple  be  discovered  sheltering  the 
hideous  form  of  some  pagan  god ;  or  where  some  foul  den 
might  be  found  in  which  human  beings  were  offered  in 
sacrifice.  Here,  he  might  surely  say,  there  is  not  only 
ample  scope  for  missionary  exertions,  but  for  charitable 
efforts  in  which  the  bodily  wants  alone  should  be  consid- 
ered as  possessing  a  paramount  claim,  for  the  apparent 
barbarism  and  destitution  of  the  people  can  hardly  be 
exceeded  upon  any  part  of  the  habitable  globe. 

Yet  one  would  think  that  the  surprise  of  such  philan- 
thropist should  bo  great  when  he  remembered  that  this 
land  was  a  Christian  land,  and  that  the  savages  before 
him  were  accounted  a  Christian  people ;  that  he  was  stand- 
ing, not  in  the  wilds  of  Africa,  but  upon  the  very  soil  of 
Old  Britain,  where  Christianity  had  been  carefully  fostered 
by  generations  of  kings  and  rulers  for  over  a  thousand 
years ;  where  a  priesthood— a  legion— wealthy  and  influ- 
ential, were  still  einj»loyed  and  lavishly  paid,  to  propagate 
Christian  doctrines;  and  where  Christian  churches  wero 
very  numorous,  the  greater  number  of  which  being  richly 
endowed  by  the  State. 

Partly  as  an  evidence  of  this,  a  few  miles  to  the  south, 
the  grey  tower  of  Pendoll  church  could  be  dimly  seen ; 
and  further,  in  the  opposite  <lirection,  away  beyond  the 
high  ground,  the  steeple  of  Betnall  parish  appeared,  faint 
HH  a  shadow,  al)()ve  the  tall  trees  that  bounded  the  view. 
Still  th*^'  Heath,  or  "Devil's  Dale,"  as  it  was  commonly 
culled,  with  its  savage  inhabitants,  was  not  for  some  rea- 
Hon,  included  wifliin  the  boundaries  of  either  Pendell  or 
flotnall  i)arish  .  it  had  once  been,  and  in  fact  still  was, 
part  of  a  large  contiscated  estate  belonging  to  some  lordly 
freebooter,  who,  for  some  vile  or  special  service,  had  it 
granted  lo  him  by  some  pious  monarch,  and  this  estate 
was  then  as  txempt  from  the  payment  of  ordinary  rates 
and  assessments  as  if  it  had  been  the  property  of  an  arch- 
bibhop.    But  in  the  course  of  time,  after  years  of  extrava- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


73 


gance  and  dissipation,  other  taxes  or  claims  had  accumu- 
lated, over  which  the  king  had  no  control,  and  a  host  of 
creditors,  as  a  last  resource,  had  placed  their  claims  in 
Chancery,  and,  once  within  its  gripe,  Chancery  had  drained 
t'  ~  avenue  of  the  estate;  had  let  its  broad  acres  grow 
wild  and  barren,  its  manor  house  tumbled  almost  to  ruins, 
had  harassed  more  than  one  heir  expectant  to  the  grave, 
and  had  scattered  the  impoverished  serfs  and  retainers  to 
their  only  refuge  on  the  bleak  heath,  where  they  and  their 
descendants,  despised  and  neglected,  had  long  become 
outlaws  and  vagabonds. 

As  it  was,  neither  Betnall,  nor  Pendeii,  was  willing  to 
admit  the  Heath  was  within  its  parochial  limits ;  neither 
did  the  authorities  of  either  parish  wish  to  be  burdened 
with  additional  paupers  from  among  the  irreclaimable 
thieves  and  cut  throats  of  "  Devil's  Dale,"  still,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  self-protection,  something  had  to  be  done  to  limit 
and,  if  possible,  to  prevent  the  incursions  of  such  vaga- 
bonds, and  by  united  effort,  with  aid  from  other  quarters, 
a  kind  of  prison,  or  place  of  torture,  called  a  workhouse 
or  poorhouse— an  institution  of  benevolence  rather  com- 
mon in  England— was  erected  on  a  convenient  boundary 
not  far  from  the  limits  of  the  Heath,  and  such  of  the  wild 
race  as  had  the  temerity  to  wander  towards  Betnall  or 
Pendell,  either  as  aged  or  infirm  mendicants,  or  as  adven- 
turers to  poach  or  to  pilfer,  were  too  well  watched  to  bo 
always  able  to  escape  detection,  and,  once  in  the  clutches 
of  certain  officials,  little  pity  was  shown ;  for  if  they  of  the 
Heath  could  not  be  convicted  as  thieves,  they  were  gener- 
ally imprisoned  as  vagrants,  and  unmercifully  dealt  with 
as  a  warning  to  others.  So  the  pious,  the  orderly,  and  the 
prominent  inhabitants  of  the  two  parishes,  generally 
treated  their  rude  neighbors  with  the  greatest  indifference 
or  contempt,  and  these  neighbors,  feeling  in  turn  that 
they  were  despised,  and  that  civilization  had  as  yet  only 
offered  them  the  refuge  of  a  prison  and  the  status  of  crim- 
inals, felt  aggrieved  and  resentful,  and  took  every  opi)or- 
tunity  of  returning  evil  for  evil,  and  of  commiting  depre- 


:i^^ 


:  i 


Si 


1'^ 


I 


mmm 


m  '■   I 


,;i| 

:!!| 


;i 


il  ^■<li 


ll' 

lli  illi 

II 

74 


THE  HKATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dations,  great  or  trivial,  as  time,  place,  and  circumstances 
permitted. 

It  was  evident,  therefore,  that  a  feeling  of  dislike  or 
hostility  on  one  side,  had  engendered  a  similar  feeling  on 
the  other,  and  they  of  the  Heath,  for  a  i)articular  reason, 
in  one  respect,  did  not  evince  any  anxiety  whatever  to  be 
patronized  by  either  parish,  or  to  press  a  claim  for  legal 
recognition  as  being  the  parishioners  of  any  place ;  for, 
isolated  as  they  were,  like  a  community  of  bandits  or  out- 
laws, and  almost  totally  indifferent  as  to  any  duty  or 
responsibility  they  might  owe  to  king  or  country,  they  felt 
exempt  from  the  payment  of  any  kind  of  rates  or  taxes, 
and  any  attempt  ever  made  to  collect  such  from  them  was 
unsuccessful;  and,  as  any  effort  of  the  kind  would  be 
quite  useless,  they  lived,  and  struggled,  and  wrangled, 
and  starved,  and  died  in  their  own  peculiar  way;  few, 
indeed,  ever  caring  to  know  more  about  them  than  that 
they  were  kept  domiciled  as  far  as  possible  within  the 
bounds  of  the  dreary  Heath  or  Devil's  Dale.  Besides, 
having  the  native  inhabitants,  the  Heath  had  others  also, 
it  was  the  resort  of  refugees  from  justice  from  all  quar- 
ters ;  and  gypsies  and  other  wanderers,  often  found  their 
way  to  the  wild  region,  and  must  have  had  a  rude  wel- 
come, as  they  frequently  remained  long  enough  to  indi- 
cate that  they  were  not  treated  as  intruders,  or  despoiled 
of  any  of  the  scanty  wares  which  they  bartered  here  and 
there  for  a  living.  Sometimes  people  from  the  adjoining 
parishes  would  pay  a  kind  of  holiday  visit  to  the  Heath  to 
see  the  "wild  folk,"  just  with  the  same  kind  of  curiosity 
that  would  lead  others  to  enter  a  menagerie  to  see  wild 
beasts ;  but  those  who  went  to  the  Heath,  went  at  their 
own  risk,  and  often  had  to  return  minus  a  watch,  a  knife,  a 
handkerchief,  or  other  articles  of  greater  or  less  value ; 
those  who  were  lucky  enough  to  escape  the  fingers  of  a 
thief,  often  went  he  ne  with  cut  or  torn  or  spattered 
clothes,  as  an  evidence  of  the  enmity  that  existed  against 
the  resi)ectable  outer  world  ;  and  it  was  not  only  darkly 
hinted,  but  once  in  a  while  spoken  openly,  that  some  had 


iii '! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


76 


recklessly  entered  the  Heuth  >vho  were  never  known  to 
have  returned. 

Notwithstandinj?  this  state  of  things,  a  few  persons, 
who  were  traders,  and  a  few  such  as  Mr.  Meade  and  his 
daughter,  who  really  commiserated  the  condition  of  the 
people  of  the  Heath,  and  who  had  given  evidence  of  a 
friendly  desire  to  do  something  for  their  benefit,  went 
occasionally  amongst  them,  and  though  received  coldly 
or  with  indifference,  were  not  molested.  The  great  mis- 
sionary societies  of  Britain  had  never  made  any  serious 
attempt  to  rescue  these  people  from  the  barbarism  into 
which  they  had  been  plunged.  Home  missions  may,  no 
doubt,  have  been  considered  altogether  too  common- 
place. There  was  something  piously  romantic  in  a  Rev- 
erend hero  of  the  Cross  wandering  far  over  sea  and  land, 
to  make  eloquent  signs  to  dusky,  well-fed  savages  in  Af- 
rica, or  in  an  endeavor  to  make  his  frail  attemi)ts  at 
Sanscrit  or  Bengalee,  understood  by  educated  Hindoos  on 
"India's  coral  strand;"  but  for  a  man  of  ability  to  be 
pent  up  in  a  wild  moor,  and  to  spend  time  and  talents 
simply  in  order  to  Christianize  his  own  heathen  fellow- 
countrymen  at  home,  was  too  unostentatious  to  be  ranked 
as  "  missionary,"  and  too  monotonous  to  invoke  the  true 
missionary  spirit.  The  heathen,  thousands  of  miles  away, 
were  suiii)Osed  to  be  in  much  greater  need  of  missionary 
attention,  and  heathen  lands  were  said  to  be  the  proper 
missionary  field  ;  for  it  had  been  argued  that  a  class  like 
those  of  the  Heath,  who  lived  in  a  Christian  country,  and 
who  could  be  even  indirectly  benefitted  or  controlled  by 
the  influence  of  a  Christian  community,  were  not  at  all  so 
much  in  need  of  spiritual  aid  as  the  destitute  in  far 
heathen  lands,  who  had  never  heard  of  the  Bible,  and 
who  had  not  the  healthy  every  day  example  of  Christian 
l)t>lievers  before  them.  Still  something  by  way  of  relig- 
ious instruction  had  been  attempted  on  the  Heath.  An 
obscure  body  of  Methodists  called  Ranters,  after  many 
trials  and  much  perseverance  and  persuasion,  had  suc- 
ceeded in  impressing  some  of  the  people  with  the  idea 


mi 


;  % 


mi 


:| 


%<  (I 


76 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Pi. 
m  ■ 


i  .s 


v.'A 


'8  i^  ':M 


that  they  were  leading  wicked  lives,  and  that  if  they 
refused  the  Gospel,  their  sufferings  in  another  state  of 
existence  would  be  many  fold  greater  than  the  toils  and 
poverty  and  wretchedness  of  this  life.  So,  after  awhile, 
a  '*  society  "  had  been  formed,  and  a  small  chapel  erected  ; 
and  as  the  preachers  of  this  sect  were  rather  illiterate  and 
unpretending,  thi^y  went  among  the  '*  wild  folk,"  no  doubt 
with  the  best  intentions,  and  as  if  only  their  equals  in 
humble  position  ;  and  their  jieculiar  threats  and  appeals— 
generally  us<'(l  by  Methodist  sects— had  such  an  effect 
upon  the  credulity  and  ignorance  of  the  rude  people,  that 
many  became  so  "religious"  that  noisy  demonstrations 
of  worship  could  be  often  heard  far  and  near  on  the  wide 
plain. 

The  barbarians  of  the  Heath  being,  however,  thoroughly 
ignorant,  could  not  really  understand,  or  at  all  appreciate 
the  so-called  "simple  doctrines"  which  were  i)reMched; 
these  not  only  bewildered  the  stupid  souls  to  whom  tlicy 
had  been  presented,  but  led  to  angry  arguments  as  to 
their  meaning,  and  thus  perplexed  these  boors  soon  grew 
tired  of  the  religious  novelty,  and  their  pious,  but  rather 
wild  excitement,  gradually  died  away.  Certain  acts  of  the 
ranting  exhorters  had  somehow  dissatisfied  many  of  their 
new  converts,  who  had  formed  the  opinion  that  these 
exhorters  were  in  many  respects  as  fallible  and  as  exacting 
in  their  way  as  other  preachers  in  higher  social  position  ; 
besides,  instead  of  a  free  gospel,  demands  had  boen  made 
very  often  for  money  for  various  religious  purposes.  The 
preacher,  too,  had  to  get  something  for  his  support ;  some- 
thing  had  to  be  given  for  the  circulation  of  the  bible— 
though  few  on  the  Heath  had  read,  or  could  even  read  a 
line  of  it— and  aid  was  required  for  missionaries  away  in 
foreign  lands.  The  trifle  asked  or  given  was,  however,  a 
great  sum  to  people  who  seldom  handled  a  shilling;  so 
they  of  the  Plain  feeling  themselves  miserably  poor,  and 
having  a  greater  share  of  pity,  rough  as  it  was,  for  their 
own  destitute  children  than  for  exhorters  or  foreign 
heathens,  looked  with  distrust  or  indifference  upon  the 


;■■* 

''/'i 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


77 


preachers.  Sunday  was  made  a  day  of  gloom,  and  as  they 
had  been  warned  against  indulging  in  the  sports  and  rec- 
reations to  which  they  had  been  accustomed,  they  soon 
fell  back  into  their  old  habits,  and  in  a  short  time  the 
great  majority  of  the  converted  abandoned  the  chapel  for 
their  old  resort,  the  low  tavern  or  drinking  house  that  had 
long  been  estpblished  amongst  them ;  here,  they  thought, 
they  could  feel  more  social  than  any  where  else,  and  the 
rude  joviality  which  occasionally  took  place  made  them 
often  forget  the  toil  that  was  before  them ;  and  if  they 
slept  an  hour  after  the  effects  of  a  pint  Of  drugged  beer, 
they  felt  more  satistled  than  if  they  had  to  sleep  an  hour 
under  a  drowsy  sermon,  very  little  of  which  they  could 
comprehend. 

This  low  place  and  a  smaller  drinking  den  of  the  same 
kind,  were  the  only  resorts  on  the  Heath  that  supplied 
beverages  for  the  inhabitants,  and  he  or  she  who  could 
spare  a  penny  out  of  the  groat  that  had  been  amassed  in  this 
impoverished  region,  was  sure  to  seek  solace  with  it  at  the 
tavern.  These  haunts  were  the  central  spots  for  scenes  of 
drunken  sports,  brawls  and  dissipation ;  and  here  it  was 
where  matches  were  made  for  wrestling,  and  for  feats  of 
strength  or  agility,  and  where  challenges  were  given  for 
brutal  fights,  in  which  kicking,  biting,  and  foul,  and  often 
deadly  blows,  were  legitimate  methods  of  battering,  and 
pounding,  and  disfiguring  the  human  body  in  the  most 
terrible  manner ;  and  then  there  were  cock  fights,  and  dog 
fights,  and,  by  way  of  change  of  sport,  fathers,  and  even 
mothers,  backed  their  sons— from  eight  to  fifteen  years 
old — in  combat  with  children  of  the  same  age,  the  sons  of 
others,  and  the  fights  between  cocks  and  dogs,  and  chil- 
dren, often,  indeed  almost  always,  led  to  combats  between 
the  respective  owners  ct  parents,  and  on  such  occasions 
the  whole  plain  might  well  be  called  the  "  Devil's  Dale," 
and  the  people  the  veriest  fiends. 

The  precarious  livelihood  of  mostly  aV  of  these  people 
was  earned  by  almost  incessant  labor,  and  l)y  employment 
in  which  children  of  tender  \ cars  were  forced  to  assist  to  the 


79 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I, 


iS  :^ 


« 


1'^ 


utmost  of  thoir  strength.  The  women,  too,  had  not  only  to 
manage  household  matters,  but  to  spend  most  of  their 
time  among  rude,  indecent  men  at  heavy  work,  which  was 
not  only  sufficient  to  break  down  the  strongest  constitu- 
tion, but  to  dwarf  and  deform  the  children  engaged 
therein  ;  and  the  almost  total  disregard  i)aid  to  difference 
of  sex,  led  to  what  would  be  called  the  greatest  demoral- 
ization. As  it  was,  coarse,  (huiiken  men  seemed  to  tyran- 
nize over  women,  and  men  and  women,  as  if  anxious  to 
lighten  their  own  labor,  comi>ellod  mere  children,  by  rude 
and  indecent  threats,  and  often  by  blows,  to  do  the  most 
slavish  work,  fit  only  for  strong  and  active  men. 

Not  far  from  the  long  row  of  huts  or  dwellings  on  the 
Heath,  and  close  to  a  wide,  deep  [)it,  were  several  low, 
rickety  sheds  ;  some  of  them  weiti  sparingly  thatched,  or 
covered  with  straw,  others  with  a  kind  of  matting,  and 
others  with  rough  tiles.  U^nder  these  sheds  were  ]'iles  of 
clay  moulded  into  the  shape  of  bricks,  and  left  to  dry, 
previous  to  their  being  placed  in  the  kiln.  A  number  of 
women  and  children  were  in  one  of  the  i)its  ;  some  of  them 
stood  with  bare  feet  in  the  thick,  muddy  water  u|)  to  the 
ankles.  The  women  dug  the  clay  and  shoveled  it  into 
barrows  that  the  larger  boys  and  girls  wheeled  Slowly 
away  to  a  place  where  men  and  women,  and  some  children 
were  actively  treading  the  clay  into  soft,  sticky  mud  to 
prepare  it  for  the  moulders.  Such  of  the  children  as  were 
not  strong  enough  to  wheel  the  barrow,  carried  baskets 
of  clay  upon  their  heads,  and  if  they  stopped  on  the  way 
to  rest  for  a  minute  or  two,  they  were  shouted  at  and 
sometimes  struck  by  men  and  women,  who  seemed  deter- 
mined to  force  them  to  do  all  the  work  they  could  possil>ly 
perform.  The  laborers  were  covered  with  dirt  and  mud, 
and  the  children's  hair  was  matted  with  clay,  and  theie 
were  scabbed  and  bleeding  sores  on  their  heads,  faces  and 
feet ;  and  several  were  so  much  covered  with  the  dry, 
adhesive  mud,  as  to  have  their  very  ft.'atures  hidden.  In 
another  \nivt  of  the  plain  was  the  entrance  to  a  coal  pit, 
in  the  murky  depths  of  which  the  toilers— mostly  men  and 


THE   HKATH1.NS   OF   THE   HEATH. 


TO 


boyg— were  hidden  from  the  outer  world  for  dreary  peri- 
ods of  from  fifteen  to  twenty  hours  at  a  time;  and  here, 
too,  women  and  children  were  obliged  to  labor,  carryinj? 
coal  in  barrows  and  buckets  until  painfully  wearied  ;  and 
the  continued  toil,  in  all  quarters,  from  dawn  until  dark, 
and  during  ll  kinds  of  weather,  so  fagged  and  wearied 
the  unfortunate  people,  that  the  strongest  stimulants 
were  too  often  craved  by  men  and  women,  more  eagerly 
than  food ;  and  children,  instead  of  thinking  of  sport  or 
l)lay,  were  glad,  in  their  periods  of  leisure,  to  drop  asleep 
on  the  wet,  muddy,  black  ground,  and  forget  their  prema- 
ture sufferings* 

The  mud  huts,  or  houses  of  the  heathen  population, 
were  only  such  as  would  give  to  a  civilized  person  the 
most  dreary  idea  of  domestic  comfort.  Each  hut  was  but 
X  single  filthy  apartment.  The  rain  often  came  through 
the  wretched  roof,  and  as  there  were  but  few  huts  which 
had  a  chimney,  or  even  a  hole  left  for  a  window,  the  smoke 
had  to  make  its  exit  through  the  cipen  door,  or  the  best 
way  it  could.  Thore  was  nothing  that  could  be  called  fur- 
niture; a  rough  stool  or  bench,  and  a  few  of  the  most 
simple  cooking  utensils  might  be  found  in  some  of  th« 
dwellings,  but  the  greater  number  of  them  had  neither 
bedstead  nor  table,  nor  even  a  stool ;  and  the  wretched, 
wearied  inmates,  after  having  partaken  of  the  most  scanty 
and  unwholesome  food,  were  compelled  at  night  to  huddle 
together  promiscuously,  in  great  discomfort,  on  the  wet  or 
damp  ground  floor,  to  find  such  rest  as  nature  might  for- 
tunately bestow,  after  their  many  hours  of  the  moat  severe 
toil. 

But  there  were  others  on  the  Heath  who  managed  to 
escape  the  misery  of  such  slavish  labor— a  class  who 
could  not  see  any  virtue  in  industry  where  poverty  was  its 
reward.  These  were  the  thieves,  the  poachers,  and  the 
robbers  of  the  plain,  who  regularly  visited  the  adjoining 
parishes,  and,  evading  bailiffs  and  detectives,  generally 

•  See  Note  i  in  the  Appendix. 


■I: 


^fc> 


I; 


I  i 


^h 


i      is 


80 


THE  HEATHKNS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


u> 


If 


T] 


I  i 


ii 


ii 


returned  with  sufficient  i)lunder,  iu  the  shape  of  game, 
domestic  fowl,  sheep  or  lambs,  clothing,  or  any  article 
that  they  could  stealthily  lay  hands  on,  and,  if  the  plun- 
der was  abundant,  it  was  freely  shared  among  the  more 
destitute  of  the  Heath ;  and  then  there  was  a  period  of 
feasting  and  revelry  for  many. 

It  would  not  only  be  a  useless,  but  a  dangerous  attempt 
for  any  officer  of  justice  to  follow  a  culprit  to  the  Heath ; 
a  summons,  warrant,  proclamation,  or  an  authoritative 
order  of  any  kind,  would  be  only  laughed  at.  Once  safely 
back  among  his  confederates,  the  thief  might  hurl  defi- 
ance at  his  pursuers,  for  he  was  sure  to  find  ready  refuge 
and  protection ;  and  the  sharpest  detective  could  neither, 
by  threats  nor  prayers,  obtain  the  least  information,  either 
to  identify  the  fugitive  or  lead  to  an  arrest;  and  if  even 
an  arrest  were  made,  should  the  officer  of  the  law,  with  a 
dozen  aids,  if  he  had  them,  persist  in  trying  to  take  away 
his  prisoner,  he  and  his  assistant  were  sure  to  be  mal- 
treated most  brutally— in  any  case  they  would  be  severely 
abused— and  the  mob  of  lawless  villians,  by  whom  they 
were  surrounded,  would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  take 
life— even  the  lives  of  all  if  necessary — rather  than  yield 
one  victim  up  to  unmerciful  magistrates;  for  the  "poor 
wretches  of  the  plain  entertained  the  opinion  that  they 
were  somehow  injured  and  oppressed,  and  kept  in  a  state 
of  want,  and  almost  in  a  state  of  slavery,  by  pious  and 
respectable  society  generally ;  and  the  minions  of  the  law 
were  not  only  looked  upon  as  agents  of  gross  oppression, 
but  were  accounted  no  higher  in  the  estimation  of  most 
of  those  half-wild  barbarians,  than  a  highwayman  or 
murderer  would  be  held  among  civilized  people.  Believ- 
ing, therefore,  that  they  had  been  wronged  and  robbed  by 
the  wealthy  and  powerful  around  them,  they  felt  it  a  duty 
to  despoil  in  return— in  fact,  to  be  revenged ;  and  often, 
indeed,  when  they  went  out  for  plunder,  if  nothing  could 
be  more  readily  found,  they  would  strip  the  clothes  from 
children ;  and,  if  a  chance  offered,  even  kidnap  the  chil- 
dren themselves.    And  for  years  there  had  been  perishing 


TUE  Hl'.ATHKNg  OF  THK  HEATH. 


81 


little  slaves  on  the  plain,  who  had  forgotten  their  parents ; 
and  there  were  parents,  far  and  near,  who  bewailed  their 
children.  There  was  oppression  and  distress  in  the  land, 
which  the  law  had  not  remedied ;  there  was  revenge  and 
blood  which  the  law  could  not  well  reach.  There  were 
tears  and  suffering  which  well  to  do  society  had  overlook- 
ed ;  and  there  was  a  plague  spot  of  poverty,  superstition, 
and  crime,  in  the  very  heart  of  old  England,  which  rich 
missionary  societies  had  neglected,  in  their  hot  zeal  to 
lavish  pious  funds  among  well-fed  Pagans,  or  to  mitigate 
imaginary  evils  in  the  nuilarious  climates  of  distant  lands.* 


*  Seo  Note  2. 


»«^. 


m 


i«mii<iiiii'- 


CHAPTER    IX. 


THE  BRITISH   HEATHEN. 


li  '<  't 


i« 


TF  a  tired  traveler  on  some  dreary  desert  were  anxiously 
-*-  seeking  rest  from  long  fatigue,  or  shelter  from  a  sud- 
den storm,  he  might  hesitate  to  enter  the  onlyi>lace  of 
refuge  that  offered  if  it  were  as  dingy,  unclean,  and  suspio- 
ious  in  appearance  as  the  "Rook's  Nest,"  which  was  the 
name  of  one  of  the  drinking  houses  on  the  Heath;  and  if 
he  were  possessed  of  a  watch  or  a  sum  of  money  which  he 
wished  to  keep  in  his  possession,  he  might  further  hesitate, 
and  would  most  likely  prefer  to  take  his  chance  beneath  a 
gloomy  sky  or  under  a  threatening  cloud,  than  enter  such 
a  nest  at  a  late  hour,  or  trust  the  black  brow  and  scowling 
aspect  of  the  thick-set,  wolfish  looking  fellow  who  was  the 
landlord  and  occupant  of  the  dilapidated  two-storied  brick 
fabric,  over  whose  battered  front  door  was  nailed  a  piec(^ 
of  board,  upon  which  some  rare  and  learned  genius  of  the 
plain  had  succeeded  in  carving  out  two  significant  words 
thus—  "Rook's  K^st."  Then,  if  the  same  traveler  in  his 
wistful  search  should  move  towards  the  other  old  building 
across  the  way,  and  see  its  dirty  entrance,  its  broken  win- 
dows, and  see  its  rough,  projc.  ,iiig  sign,  that  probably 
the  same  artist  had  lettered,  "  The  Bull  Dog,"  he  might 
fjuicklyturn  away  in  despair  from  a  place  of  promise  so 
doubtful,  when  he  ylso  saw  the  stupid  look  and  heavy 
feature!"i  of  the  half  drunken,  oi  e-eyed  host  who  sat  like 
some  unci  fan  beast  in  a  foul  den  waiting  for  his  prey. 
These  were  the  two  inn©,  or  ratlier  drinking  houses,  oJ 


m\ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA.TH. 


m 


the  Heath,  and  the  great  place.s  of  resort  for  nearly  its 
entire  population.  The  Roolc's  N  jst,  being  the  larger  of 
the  two,  was  the  haunt  of  those  principally  engaged  at 
work  in  the  mines,  and  its  name  was  somewhat  appropri- 
ate, every  one  of  its  customers  being  almost  as  black  in 
appearance  '^'.s  the  veritable  rooks  themselves.  The  '*  Bull 
Dog,"  on  the  other  hand,  was  chiefly  patronized  by  the 
laborers  of  the  brick  yards,  who  wore  more  rough  in  man-" 
ner,  and  more  willing  to  get  drunk  and  quarrel,  than, 
perhaps,  those  who  favored  the  other  house;  and  though 
each  of  these  resorts  had  its  own  particular  class  of  custo- 
mers, it  was  common  for  them  to  mingle  at  either  place 
to  drink,  to  wrangle,  or  to  light,  as  the  mood  of  the  hour 
chanced  to  direct. 

It  was  Sunday  morning— not  a  day  of  rest  or  recreation 
for  all  on  the  Plain— and  nearly  church  time ;  for  the 
faint  sound  of  the  bells  of  Betnall  parish  could  be  heard 
now  and  then  in  the  clear,  calm  air.  A  number  of  labor- 
ers who  had  been  at  work  from  an  early  hour  in  the  clay 
pits,  had  just  strolled  one  after  another  towards  their 
respective  huts,  "just  to  clean  oop  a  bit,"  that  is  to  rinse 
a  portion  of  the  mud  from  their  faces  and  hands  in  dirty 
water.  Several  of  the  children  were  still  kept  busy  piling 
unburnt  bricks  under  the  sheds,  while  a  few  other  cliil- 
dren— the  sickly  and  worn  out—were  stretched  listlessly 
here  and  there  on  the  bare  ground,  as  if  anxious  for  rest 
that  should  be  unbroken  forever.  By  degrees  a  num 
ber  of  squalid  looking  laborers,  men  and  women— squalid 
and  ragged  even  in  their  Sunday  attire--had  assembled  in 
the  small,  filthy  tap  room  of  the  Bull  Dog.  In  a  short 
time  the  place  became  crowded;  the  day  was  warm,  and 
the  cloud  of  tobacco  smoke  that  filled  the  place  seenu'd 
to  discompose  none  but  the  myriads  of  flies  that  were  buz- 
zing around,  or  diving  into  the  clammy  pewter  mugn 
which  were  very  seldom  polished.  The  rough  people  who 
had  entered  appeared  in  a  hurry  to  commence  the  day's 
carousal  by  first  swallovring  the  strongest  stuff  that  Ne<l 
Hogg  jould  liana  over  his  counter ;  and  Ned,  with  his  one 


ft**- 


■^m 


m 


flfTjr 


m 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


blinking  eye  seemed  to  watch  every  drop  as  if  willincr  to 
«ive  only  scrupulous  measure  to  his  craving  customers. 
One  mi^ht  think  he  was  dispensing  to  a  diseased  set  so  .n«5 
precious  elixir  of  life,  instead  of  the  very  essence  of  death. 

**  Oy,"  said  one  fellow  after  wiping  his  mouth  with  the 
back  of  his  hand,  "that's  a  rare  un  yer  got  Ned,  whoy 
thur  will  choake  the  bitch  at  th' Rook's  in  less  than  a 
minnit." 

"Thuishe  wuU  lud,"  replied  the  landlord,  "she's  a  rare 
un,  suro  enough  ;  an  I'll  lay  an  extra  croon  that  she'll  lay 
oop  the  Rook's'  beauty  within  'alf  an  oor,  and  Tom 
Slaughter  will  lose  another  wager.  Well,  damn  un,  I'd 
loike  t'let  un  lose  a  poond  or  more  •  and  thoo'll  do  it,  my 
lady."  Here  Ned  Hogg,  the  aforesaid  landlord,  lifted  on 
his  counter  a  great,  ugly  bull  slut,  and  patted  her  as  affec- 
tionately as  his  course  nature  would  permit,  while  his 
gazing  customers  were  delighed.  He  had  got  this  brute 
as  a  Ti'VG  present;  she  had  been  stolen  a  short  time  pre- 
viously from  a  farmer  a  few  miles  distant,  and  Ned  had 
sent  a  challenge  to  his  rival,  Tom  Slaughter,  the  landlord 
of  the  Rook's  Nest,  who  had  another  dog  of  the  same  kind. 
Heavy  bets  had  been  made  on  the  dogs,  and  great  sport 
was  expected.  A  . 

"  Whoy  B<.b,  thees  back  brave  un !  What's  the  look  ?  " 
All  eyes  were  now  turned  upon  the  man  who  had  just 
entere  i.  Bob  Cuffer,  who  had  been  so  addressed  by  the 
landlord,  was  a  noted  poacher,  or  rather  thief;  he  had 
been  "out"  with  felonious  intent  as  usual,  and  had  only 
returned  a  few  hours  previously,  with  some  plunder  and 
some  news,  of  which  all  present  seemed  eager  to  have  a 
share .  Bob's  news  was  almost  a?  welcome  as  the  spoil 
which  he  was  willing  to  divide  among  those  who  had 
greatest  need.  He  was  a  daring,  able  bodied  chap,  ready 
for  a  bout  with  a  bailiff  or  a  detective,  and  as  he  had  never 
been  "  trapped  "  by  either  one  or  the  other,  or  known  to 
come  off  second  best  in  an  encounter  with  any  who  had 
been  on  the  look  out  for  him,  he  was  a  favorite ;  and  the 
relation  of  his  adventures  whenever  he  returned  had  all 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


:.'-Hi|i» 


the  attractions  of  a  romance  for  his  lawless  associates  on 
the  Heath. 

"  What's  th'  look  ?  "  continued  the  landlord,  who  hand- 
ed Bob  a  glass  of  the  strongest  liqu,-  w^^ich  was  drunk 
off  in  a  moment.  "  Ise  glad  thee's  coom  to  meet  Jack 
Clench,  I  wood'na  vur  a  poond  hav  un  say  that  you  went 
off  an  wur  afeard  to  coom  to  time." 

"  Oi  beant  afeard  uv  Jack  Clench,  nor  noother  mun,  an 
he  knows  it."  Bob  Cuffer,  when  he  said  this,  swaggered 
like  a  bully  from  side  to  side,  and  held  out  one  of  his  big 
arms  in  defiance. 

"Hoy,  Bob!  but  thee's  got  v«  coot  on  th' yarm.  Hast 
liad  a  scuffle  with  any  t'  oodside  ?  "  said  the  landlord. 

There  was  a  wound  on  the  man's  arm,  but  Bob,  looking 
at  it  with  indifference,  replied  . 

"  Yes  mun,  I  got  into  clootches  wi'big  Jones,  the  bailiff, 
an  iv  he  gav  me  that  scratch  wi'  a  pistol  ball,  I  gav  him  a 
broke  skull  wi'  a  big  stim  as  big  as  his  yed.  I  laid  un  low, 
that  I  did,  an  he'll  maybe  get  boxed  oop  an  in  aud 
Steeve's  care  i'  th'  Pendell  choorch  yard  afore  anoother 
week.    He  won't  trooble  me  again,  he  won't. 

The  fellow  chuckled  at  his  vile  exploit,  and  his  savage 
hearers  uttered  a  chorus  of  approval  in  anticipation  ol  the 
death  of  the  unfortunate  bailiff.  Treating  the  evant  as  a 
matter  of  no  importance,  the  landlord  filled  out  another 
glass  for  Bob  and  inquired  the  news. 

'*  Oy,"  said  Bob,  "  but  I  maun  show  you  the  swag  first. 
I  got  this  watch,  and  there's  his  pistol,  too,  dam  un ;  I 
gav  uncle  Jo  his  coat  an  boots."  These  were  things  which 
he  ha/ 1  taken  from  the  bailiff;  and  the  pistol  and  watch 
were  handed  around  to  satisfy  the  curiosity  of  those 
luesent.  He  then  told  them  that  he  had  been  all  through 
Pendell  and  Betnall,  that  he  had  been  at  the  rector's 
place,  and  had  picked  up  some  clothes  an^  other  things 
in  an  outhouse;  "an  see  here,"  said  he  uncovering  a 
small  basket  which  hung  on  his  arm,  "here's  one  o'  the 
rector's,  teiinauts  that  never  paid  un  ony  toythes,"  and 
Bob  laughed  heartily. 


t-J 


'SJ! 


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•"s^'l 


-! 


i- 


im 


1 

I 

■  i 


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THV,   HEATHENS   OF  THE   HEATH. 


i  I' 


i'ii 


Crouched  in  the  basket  was  a  valuable  game  cock,  on© 
of  a  rare  breed,  great  to  tight,  for  which  pareon  Rockett, 
rector  of  Betnall,  and  magistrate  for  the  county,  had  paid 
a  high  price,  in  order  to  afford  amusement,  and  sometimes 
profit,  to  himself  and  a  few  chosen  friends  who  delightfvi 
in  testing  to  the  utmost  the  fighting  qualities  of  such 
birds  when  a  chance  offered ;  in  fact  the  rector  and  his 
select  friends — being  all  wealthy  and  of  course  respectably 
pious— were  as  fond  of  this  kind  of  sport  as  they  were  of 
horse  racing,  or  of  following  the  hounds.  Bob  Cuffer  who 
was  also  partial  to  feathers,  and  who  prided  himself  in 
being  as  good  a  judge  of  game  cocks  as  any  rector  in  the 
kingdom,  saw  the  i)arson'3  prize,  and  determined  that  it 
should  be  his  own ;  so  here  was  the  bird  to  produce 
unbounded  admiration ;  and  Bob,  who  felt  that  this  act 
of  relieving  the  parson  was  one  of  the  most  meritorious 
kind,  was  the  hero  of  the  hour.  Some  laughed  to  think 
how  the  rector  would  deplore  his  loss,  and  demand  the 
arres<^  of  the  unknown  ''  beak  hunter,"  while  others  were 
perhaps  speculating  in  their  own  stupid  way  whether  the 
sermon  which  the  rector  might  preach  that  day  in  Betnall 
church  would  be  one  on  charity  and  forgiveness,  or 
whether  its  text  and  burden  w-  M  be,  in  conformity  with 
his  every  day  practice  towards  ae  sinners  of  the  Heath, 
"an  eye  for  an  eye,  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth." 

After  having  related  some  of  his  minor  adventures  dur- 
ing his  raid  into  the  parishes.  Bob  Cuffer  gave  his  eager 
hearers  some  of  the  Jiews.  "  Nance  Carey,  hur  that  was  in 
for  a  vamp'  i'  th'  woorkhoose,  smoothered  her  young  un, 
an  then  tried  to  set  fire  t'  th'  place;  tliery  was  th'  deevil  to 
pay  amoong  them,  an  all  were  cursing  Nance;  an  noo 
she'll  be  lagged  surely,  oonless  we  get  hur  oot  sum  way. 
An'  Dick  Vance,  him  tiiat  got  hur  th'  kid,  has  coot  and 
run  off,  cause  Rockett  gav  a  warrant  ver  un.  Little  mercy 
vur  Nance  i'  th'  parson  s  prison  ;  Rockett  aint  purtickler 
hoo  he  deals  wi'  oor  kind  i'  th'  woorkhoo. >•;. 

"  Rocket! "  exclaimcil  one  of  the  w</JU(;q,  -v/Ii'~»y  wen 
his  maid  throost  hur  twins  1'  tli' doon.^  pit,  ihe  i>arson 


THE  HEATHENS   01    THE   HEATH. 


87 


hooshed  it  oop,  an  helped  hur  wi' cash  to  gan  off;  but 
Heeins  th'  rector  knew  more'n  he  ought  to  as  who  th' 
father  uv  th'  ba^jlufes  was ;  s«Mni)s  his  wife  liuew  more'n 
siie  cared  vur  too,  tin  slie  hooried  tli'  wench  away."     • 

"Oy,"said  anotlier  woman,  "'twere  caus  th'  babbies 
wur  his'n ;  an  'twant  the  foorst  lass  that  he  sarved  th' 
loike,  and  mayhap  woont  be  tlie  last  oonhjss  his  wife  can 
keep  a  watch  on  un  better  ;  but  he  don't  care  vur  she,  he'd 
bung  hur  eyes  iv  she  said  a  woord." 

"Wull  let  th'  parson  go  vur  a  bit,"  resumed  Bob 
CulTer,  "  he's  noot  else  to  do  arter  he  prays  an  feeds  o' 
Sunday,  an  more'n  I  knows  vur  what  he  sent  his  maid  off, 
but  av  he  hurts  Nance  vur  dooin  once,  what  he  knows 
lots  o'  th'  great  uns  oop  in  Loonun  doos  a'  th'  time,  we 
maun  call  an  see  im  sum  night  when  th'  moon's  abed." 
This  threat  against  the  rector  was  well  received,  and  Bob 
then  spoke  on  in  the  matter  of  news.  "  The  chap  they 
calls  th'  bishoop  oot  o'  Loonun,  or  sum  oother  great  i)iace, 
is  a  coomin  doon  t'  th'  parishes,  an  Roukett  an  a  whole 
lot  o'  parson  chaps  will  be  along  t'  oonvarm— yes,  t'  con- 
varm  ;  that  maun  be  it." 

"Oonvarm?  what's  that,"  exclaimed  one. 

"Whoy,  I  dunno,"  said  Bob,  scratching  his  head  rattier 
roflBvitively,  "it's  t'  convarm  1'  th'  ciioorch,  they  sez. 
Thoy  gets,  I  b'lieve,  a  lot  o'  maids  an  chaps  drest  oop 
loiko  t'  gan  t'  th'  choorch,  and  then  they  gavs  em  summaL 
vur  a  dance  at  th'  gloamin  ;  and  then  this  ere  bishoop  an 
th' parson  chaps  puts  off  vur  th'  rector's  an  has  a  goort 
veed  o'  wittles,  an  artcr  that  they  talfes  summat  to  drink  ; 
and  they  .'til  gans  t'  anoothor  choorch' and  begins  again 
loike." 

"  Convarm,  oy  T  know  it  now,"  said  the  landlord,  fan- 
cying that  he  had  made  a  discovery.  "  I'll  joost  convarm 
my  bitch  here  again  ony  that  th'  bi.«hoop  brings  vrom 
Loonun  or  oot  else.  I'll  wage  on  thee,  lass  ;  that  I  will," 
and  I'e  again  i)atted  tlie  bull  slut,  on  the  counter. 

"laintsuro  that's  it,"  said  Bob  Cuffer—"  it  may  be- 
but  he  wont  coom  here  to  convarm  or  tight  wi  th'  deevil 


C 


If 


■I 


li 

'J 


i.   > 


'■'-',  *Wh.>.,  ,. 


88  THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

hissel,  or  th'  bitch  either;  or  any  otL  r  on  th'  plain. 
But,  hark,  I've  got  oother  news  vur  all,"  and  then  lower- 
ing his  voice  a  little,  he  said,  "  ther's  one  will  coom  doon 
here  soon,  one's  that's  not  a  parson,  nor  a  rect'r,  nor  noot 
oot  kind,  but  i'  furriner,  a  cove  vroin  far  abrood,  that's 
coom  herr  t'  buy  oop  all  this  land  ;  and  he's  bought  it  vur 
sartin ;  the  aud  manor  hoose,  an  all  the  aud  estate  o' 
Mayston,  an  he'll  coom  here  sure,  an  mayhap  pull  doon 
th'  Rook's  Nest,  an  turn  oot  th'  rooks,  and  level  this  aud 
Bull  Dog  house  t'  th'  groond,  an  pull  doon  everything,  an 
hoont  us  all  off  vur  vurmin— that's  what  th'  rect'r,  you 
know,  calls  we,  rdniiin-an  we'll  all  ha  vt'  gan  off  t'  th' 
woorkhouse,  or  off  wi  th'  gypsies." 

This  part  of  the  news  caused  no  little  excitement. 
There  was  a  storm  of  oaths,  and  there  were  threats  of 
lierce  delianco,  which  were  not  mere  idle  threats ;  but 
which,  to  carry  out,  every  man,  and  many  of  the  women 
|)resent,  would  have  risked  life  or  limb ;  and  were  it  neces- 
sary, many  of  them  would  be  then  and  there  ready  to 
iil)i)ly  tlie  torch,  or  to  use  the  knife  or  the  bullet  in  defence 
of  the  title  which  they  considered  they  had  to  the  Heath 
by  virtue  of  long  i)oss<>ssion. 

In  a  few  minutes,  when  the  explosion  of  anger  had 
nearly  [)as3ed.  Bob  Cuflor  went  on  to  relate  how  he  got 
his  informatiua.  He  said  that,  when  passing  through 
Pendell,  he  had  met  old  Stephen— who  was  regarded  even 
as  a  friend  by  all  on  the  Heath— and  that  Stephen  had 
told  him  that  a  stranger  had  called  at  old  Sarah  Afton's 
cottage,  to  make  some  in(iulries  about  Pendell  and  its 
neighborhood,  and  about  some  of  its  old  inhabitants,  and 
about  some  also  who  had  been  long  dead ;  that  Sarah  had 
sent  the  stranger  to  Stephen,  and  that  they  both  went 
together  to  the  Pendell  grave  yard  to  try  and  iind  an  old 
family  tombstone,  so  old  that  even  Stephen  himself  was 
unable  to  make  the  discovery.  The  stranger  had  a  book — 
a  fhronicle  of  Pendell— which  he  cousulted  from  time  to 
time.  He  then  told  Stephen  to  get  him  a  spade,  and,  after 
a  little  time,  he  commenced  to  dig  in  a  distant  and  over- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


8'.t 


grown  oorner  of  the  grave  yard  close  to  the  angle  of  tlic 
wall,  and  that  when  he  had  cleared  away  nearly  a  foot  in 
depth  from  the  surface,  he  uncovered  a  marble  slab.  TIkj 
(late  and  most  of  the  letters  on  it  being  nearly  worn  away, 
could  not  be  made  out,  but  the  name,  "Jean  Vailliant," 
and  a  cross  with  the  usual  monogram,  thus — I.  H.  S.— 
iuiving  been  cut  deeper  than  the  other  words  or  letters, 
could  be  plainly  ^een.  This  was  the  name  of  an  ancestor 
of  the  stranger's,  and  he  copied  it  into  his  book.  He  then 
told  Stephen  that  he  had  come  from  India  to  purchase 
the  old  Maystou  estate,  which  he  said  had  belonged  to 
their  ancestor,  and  that  he  would  soon  take  possession 
and  make  some  improvements.  Before  he  left  he  reward- 
ed Stephen  handsomely,  and  though  the  old  sexton  did 
not  yet  know  1  he  name  of  his  benefactor,  he  seemed  to 
think  that  there  was  something  sui)erior  about  him,  and 
that  his  residence  at  Pendell  would  make  things  vastly 
better. 

While  Bob  Cuffer  was  giving  this  relation,  a  gypsy 
woman,  who  chanced  to  pass  outside  near  the  door,  was 
seen  to  become  agitated  when  she  heard  mention  of  the 
name  that  was  found  on  the  slab  in  the  grave  yard ;  she 
tlien  stood  and  appeared  to  listen  attentively  to  what  Bob 
was  saying,  and  when  h«  had  ended,  she  asked  him  to 
repeat  the  name  which  the  stranger  liad  discovered. 
After  this,  she  was  seen  to  hurry  off,  as  with  the  news, 
toward  a  gypsy  camp,  which  was  at  some  distance  on  the 
plain. 

"  Better  or  no  better,"  said  the  landlord,  "  iv  he  cooms 
here  t'  distoorb  us,  it  maun  be  at  liis  own  risk— we'll  soon 
do  vur  un — an  he  main  be  glad  to  get  off  afore  we  lave  un 
vvoorse  than  Bob  left  the  bailee." 

"Oy  let  un  coom  iv  he  dares,"  said  three  or  four  to- 
gether, "we'll  kick  the  goots  oot  un."  Haifa  duzen 
others  made  similar  expressions. 

"  Keep  o  shut  mooth,  luds,  oontil  he  cooms,"  said  Bob 
(Uiffer,  standing  out  before  them  all,  "  I'll  ktiei)  an  eye  on 
un    I  don't  troost  un  a  bit ;  an'  iv  he's  ouy  uv  rh'  damned 


;,} 


II 


••**l|j^ 


90 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


pars'n  tribe,  or  a  friend  o'  Rockett's,  I'll  lay  he  woon't 
trooble  us  long." 

A  number  of  men  from  the  Rook's  inn  then  entered ; 
more  liquor  was  demanded,  and  Ned  Hogg's  eye  glistened 
again  while  he  was  measuring  out  the  fiery  fluid.  Among 
others  that  then  came  was  Jack  Clench,  Bob's  antagonist, 
a  stout  fellow  like  Bob  himself.  Both  looked  smiling  and 
defiant,  and  they  had  a  glass  together,  as  if  to  certify 
before  all  that  they  were  prepared  to  meet  that  day  in 
fair  fight.  Several  persons  could  now  be  seen  around  here 
and  there  with  coeks  and  dogs ;  there  was  quite  a  collec- 
tion of  these  animals.  The  day's  sport  was  about  to  begin 
and  all  seemed  eager  to  witness  the  usual  scenes  of  cruelty 
and  blood,  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether  those  scenes  of 
recreation  should  close  with  the  death  of  a  dog,  or  the 
death  of  a  human  being. 


I''  ^'    <'MS 
li'  ■  i    ill? 


It: 


?ti 


CHAPTEE    X. 

BRITISH   AND   FOREIGN   HEATHEN. 

rpHE    gypsy  woman   who  hurried  away  from  the  inn 
-*-     after  she  had  heard  Bol)  Cuffer  give  an  account  of 
his  interview  with  old  Stephen  at  Pendeil,  went  on  mood- 
ily towards  the  gypsy   canip.      This  was  situated  on  a 
distant  part  of  the  Heath  wliere  the  scattered  trees  afford- 
ed some  little  shade.    The  camp  wad  composed  of  a  num- 
ber of  huts  and  a  few  tents.    These  huts  wore  much  better 
than  those  occupied  by  the  plodding  laborers  at  the  bric^k 
yards;    there  was  some  show  of   neatness    around    the 
dwellings,  even  a  few  flowers  could  be  seen.    Among  the 
tents  was  one  a  little  removed  from  the  rest,  into  which 
the  gypsy  woman  entered.    This  person  was  called  Ma- 
lieel,  and  was  known  on  the  plain  as  the  gypsy  lady.    She 
was  in  the  prime  of  life,  reputed  to  be  of  superior  caste, 
anil  might  have  been  called  han<Jsome  were  it  not  for  her 
very  dark  skin,  her  restless  eye,  and  the  sinister  expres- 
sion which  seemed  at  times  to  disligure  her  features,  that 
were  otherwise  almost  i)erfect.      Though  the  period  of 
her  residence  on  the  Heath  bad  been  but  a  few  weeks,  yet 
she  already  possessed  some  influence  with  the  wandering 
peoi)le,  and  was  deferred  to  by  many.    She  must  have  had 
some  means  of  support,  for  she  engaged  in  no  kind  of 
employment,  but  why  she  came,  or  why  she  remaine^l, 
perplexed  even  the  gyi)sies  themselves. 

Squatted  in  a  corner  of  the  tent,  was  Zingari,  a  venera- 
ble gyi>sy  woman,  whose  age  was  said  to  be  over  a  hund- 


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92 


THE   HKATHI.NS   OF  THE   HEATH. 


red  years.  Her  hair  was  perfectly  white,  her  face— once 
perhaps  beautiful — was  wrinkleilaiid  sallow,  but  lior  black 
eyes  were  intelligent,  and  though  now  sunken,  had  even 
still  much  of  the  lingering  fire  of  youth.  The  whole  tribe 
regarded  her  with  reverence,  for  they  bellowed  that  none 
could  equal  her  in  dealing  in  mysteries  and  foretelling 
events;  and  certain  strangers  from  the  parishes  would 
sometimes  venture  to  call  for  such  information  as  they 
believed  she  alone  could  give.  It  was  with  this  old  woman 
that  Maheel  for  some  reason  preferred  to  reside.  She  was 
attentive  to  the  aged  occupant,  who  was  however  strange- 
ly reserved  even  towards  her ;  and  they  had  little  commu- 
nication with  others. 

Old  Zingari  sat  knitting  a  kind  of  woolen  garment,  and 
while  thus  engaged  she  was  humming  a  wild  but  melan- 
choly air,  to  which  the  younger  woman,  while  looking 
vacantly  at  the  busy  fingers  of  the  other,  was  apparently 
listening ;  and  though  no  words  were  heard,  the  air  itself 
seemed  to  have  a  depressing  effect  upon  the  listener. 

After  some  hesitation  Maheel  stooi)ed  and  whispered  a 
few  words  in  a  strange  tongue.  The  old  woman  did  not 
even  look  up,  she  became  silent,  as  if  she  had  forgotten 
her  sad  strain.  In  a  few  moments  she  slowly  replied — 
"  Better  for  thee  not  to  hear  my  words." 

"Thy  speech,  Zinguri,  will  be  now  most  welcome— 
thou  can'st  explain ;  besides  I  long  to  know  what  of  my 
past  or  future  thou  |)ercliance  *  an'st  read.  What  of  that 
ancient  name  ;  to  whom  did  it  belong  ?  " 

"  I  know  the  name,  Maheel,  it  is  of  one  long  dead  ;  but 
there's  a  living  man  to  claim  it  still— and  him  thou 
knowst." 

Maheel  seemed  disconcerted  and  whispered  to  her 
again,  and  again  Zingari  replied:  "Guilt  breeds  more 
terror  than  the  whirlwind.  Why  dreads  the  worshiper  of 
Kali?"* 

"Nay,  Zingari,  Maheel  will  worship  only  Christna,  the 
beautiful  Christna,  the  son  of  the  virgin  Devanaguy." 

•  The  wife  of  Siva. 


THE   nFATHENS   OF  THE    HKATET. 


03 


"But  rinistna,  the  bonovolont,  is  ploa-^oil  with  no  sac- 
rifice of  blood,  that  cruel  rite  is  for  Siva,  and  for  Moses; 
and  it  is  the  hope  of  'h*-  boni^htod  Chri^tinti." 

"I  have  no  hoi»«>  in  such  a  rite,  Zin^jari,  my  hope  and 
trui?t  are,  like  tliine  own.  in  Cliristna." 

"  8ayst  thou  in  blessed  Christ na  !  Hath  not  the  daupli- 
ter  of  a  Brahmin  becom*^  a  Chri-^ilan  and  a  Pariah?  Bet- 
ter for  her  to  be  even  of  the  D'  adaams  t  in  t)io  temi)le 
uf  Sivn." 

"  "Why  thus  thy  spoe<h,  Zingan  Jilood  of  sacred  boast 
or  of  human  beinj^'  I've  never  shod.  My  richest  offerings 
are  for  Cliristna,  who  will  <'orne  again."! 

"Bolievest  thou  this?  And  hast  thou  still  thy  caste? 
Stay!  Let  mo  see  thy  hand."  Here  the  old  gypsy  took 
^laheel's  hand,  and  after  having  looked  closely  at  the 
palm,  said:  "The  cross  hath  touched  thine  hand,  not  as 
an  ancient  symbol  of  our  race,  but  as  the  token  of  thine 
apostacy.  There  is  no  Idood  mark  here  as  yet,  but  there's 
a  stain  I  sot-  almost  as  vile.  Maheel!  Thou  hast  stolen 
the  blot-d  of  the  living!  " 

The  young  gypsy  woman  started  lu  her  feet;  she  look- 
ed flercely  at  old  Zingari,  who  so^Muod  to  heed  her  not 
but  re-commenced  her  knitting;  and  soon  again  her  hum- 
ming voice  was  heani,  and  words  wt'i'(>  now  muttered  with 
the  wild  strain,  as  if  of  pro])hetic  nn^aning. 

Maheel,  apparently  stupitied,  stood  listening  at  the 
entrance  of  the  tent;  and  now,  like  one  affrighted,  she 
watched  the  shadow  of  a  great  cloud  sweep  across  the 
l»la.in,  and  onward  towar'd  one  of  the  long  sheds,  in  whic<i 
several  wearied  chiMren  were  seeking  rest  from  the  effects 
of  the  most  inhuman  toil.  Under  a  sudden  imt)ulse,  sbo 
rushed  after  the  shadow  until  she  reached  the  shed. 
Though  stern  and  indifferent  as  she  could  l)o,  her  heart 
Celt  a  touch  of  pity  when  she  witnessed  the  sad  condition 

t  Virgins  attai^lied  to  the  service  of  tlie  Braliminical  Trinity  in 
Pagodns  ami  in  Temples. 

+  The  Hindoo  r(*li«inn  teafiies  that  Christna  will  apT»ear  again  on 
earth,  as  the  tenth  Avatar  of  Vishnu,  to  coiKjuer  the  prim^eof  Demons, 
or  Bacivchasas,  before  tlie  Una!  destructiuu  of  all  things. 


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WIMTH.N.Y.  M5M 

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94 


THE   HEATMF-NS  OF  TIIH  HKATH. 


■     •■ 


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ii; 


of  the  ovorworkcd  children.  They  lay  around  in  rags- 
some  almost  in  a  state  of  nudity— and  with  scratched  and 
bleeding  limbs,  upon  whidi  the  dried  mud  was  thick 
enough  to  crack  in  flakes.  They  all  appeared  to  be  in  an 
utter  state  of  prostration.  A  few  of  the  more  rugged 
slept;  a  few  others  were  feverish  and  raving,  while  two  or 
three  were  panting  as  if  the  last  gusj)  was  soon  to  close 
their  sufferings.  One  boy,  of  alwut  ten  years,  lay  upon 
his  back,  his  eyes  were  bloodshot,  and  now  and  then  ho 
would  throw  out  his  arms  and  cry  jntifully  for  water. 
Near  to  him,  a  girl,  scarct^ly  his  age,  was  huddled  under  a 
few  rags,  and  lay  quite  still.  Maheel  looked  at  several  of 
the  little  faces,  as  if  anxious  to  recogni/e  some  one  she 
knew;  but  the  withered  expression  upon  all  had  mad<' 
every  face  strange.  Once  or  twice  she  made  bare  an  arnu 
as  if  to  discover  some  mark,  but  each  arm  was  too  unclean 
or  too  much  scratched  or  bruised  to  leave  any  ordinary 
mark  distinguishable.  She  then  a|)proached  the  8leei)ing 
girl,  and  gently  uncovered  her  face.  She  gazed  a  moment 
like  one  terror-stricken,  and  then  shrieked  and  started 
back— the  poor  girl  was  dead. 

As  Maheel  turned  to  leave  the  wretche<l  place,  she  saw 
a  little  boy,  who  had  just  entered,  st«)op  to  wet  the  parch- 
ed lips  of  the;  one  who  had  been  crying  for  water.  There 
was  something  i)eculiar  in  liis  appearance;  he  might,  at 
flrst  view,  be  taken  for  some  gypsy  child,  and  might 
have  passed  for  one,  were  it  not  that  his  hair  was  a  dark- 
brown  and  curly.  As  he  held  a  dirty  tin  cup  to  the  moul  li 
of  the  boy,  his  bare  brown  right  aim  was  exitosed,  and 
above  the  wrist,  on  the  inside  of  this  arm,  a  snuill  cinMr 
or  ring  had  been  tattooed.  When  Maheel  saw  this,  she 
grasped  his  arm,  and  looked  closely  at  the  mark.  The 
boy  seenu^d  to  know  her  at  once,  but  without  saying  a 
word,  slie  rushed  away  and  retraced  her  steps  to  the  tent 
of  old  Zingari. 

It  was  about  noon  ;  the  pious  of  the  adjoining  parishes 
were  a,t  their  devotions,  and  the  two  inns  on  the  Head 
were  well  filled,    The  boors  at  the  "Rook's  Nest"  lia<i 


THE  UEATHENB  OF  TUE  HEATH. 


drunk  their  quota;  and  those  ai  the  *'  Bull  Dog  "  were  not 
hcliind  in  this  respect.  Matches  and  bets  had  been  made, 
uiul  most  present  were  in  a  fair  state  of  preparation  for 
t  he  enjoyment  of  their  usual  sport.  Alnuidy  several  stout 
lads,  precocious  in  villainy.,  had  hero  and  there  been  test- 
ing'the  fighting  qualities  of  timid  bantams,  and  training 
ihe  vicious  young  of  the  canine  kind  to  snuffle  and  yell) 
for  blood.  All,  however,  b, mg  now  ready  for  greater 
fj'uts  of  brutality,  an  opon  level  space  between  the  two 
iinis  was  chosen.  This  was  Vtw  usual  arena  for  gladiato- 
rial contests  of  all  kinds,  and  here  it  generally  was,  that 
men — even  sometimes  women— boys,  dogs  and  birds  fought 
and  battered  and  tortured  one  another  on  Sundays,  to  win 
trifling  sums,  or  to  gain  the  applause  of  a  crowd  of  ruf- 
fians. 

A  rude  fence  encircled  this  space  or  ring,  and  after  a 
few  preliminaries,  Bob  CufYer  entered  the  enclomre  with 
tlie  game  cock  which  he  had  stolen  from  parson  Rockett, 
{ind  offered  to  lay  an  e.\tra  crown  that  that  bird  would 
beat  any  other  which  could  be  produced.  A  stout  miner 
Irom  the  "Rooks"  took  the  bet,  and  set  down  a  cock 
mueli  more  showy  than  the  one  in  which  Bob  had  such 
contidence.  The  crowd  had  pushed  and  pressed  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  ring,  bets  were  boastingly  renewed,  the 
birds  were  set  facing  each  other,  and  the  fight  began.  '  t. 
first  the  miner's  bird,  being  the  larger,  seemed  to  have  it 
ail  his  own  way;  the  other,  however,  held  out  best;  he 
tore  the  comb  and  feathers  from  his  antagonist;  and, 
finally,  amid  shouts  and  Jeers,  drove  him  from  the  ring. 
The  miner  was  so  enraged  at  this,  that  he  caught  his 
panting  bird,  trampled  it  into  the  earth,  and  then  fiung 
the  dead  fowl  into  the  face  of  one  of  the  men  who  had  bet 
against  him.  Both  men,  being  angry  and  excited,  like 
many  around,  struck  each  other,  and  a  furiotis  fight  would 
have  taken  place,  were  it  not  for  the  interference  of  some 
who  preferred  to  see  regular  si»ort,  and  who  did  not  want 
such  interrupted  by  a  common  hasty  quarrel. 

i^ed  Hogg,  the  landlord  of  the  "Bull  Dog,"  now  came 


I 
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96 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


forward  with  his  great  bull  slut.  His  coarse  visage  anri 
blinking  eyes  were  forbidding  by  the  eagerness  of  manner 
which  he  exhibited.  A  slut  of  similar  appearance  was 
brought  on  the  ground  by  Tom  Slaughter,  the  host  of  the 
"Rook's  Nest."  Tom  felt  confidence  in  his  animal,  and 
had  bet  heavily  on  her,  and  his  clownish  swagger  and  sin- 
ister aspect  seemed  suitable  ior  the  time  and  place.  It 
may  be  well  to  state  that  these  respected  landlords  made 
it  a  point  to  be  always  opposed  to  each  other ;  and  more 
than  one  trial  of  bodily  strength  and  endurance  had  taken 
l)lace  between  them,  each  bearing  some  permanent  'jcar 
to  remind  him  of  his  adversary  an'  Ned  Hogg  must 
bear  to  his  grave  such  a  memento,  even  the  loss  of  an 
eye. 

The  unruly  crowd  of  spectators  again  pushed  and 
«»quabbled  in  their  greed  to  witness  the  coming  fray.  In  a 
short  time  word  was  given,  and  the  dogs  were  let  loose. 
The  vicious  brutes  rushed  together,  and  seized  hold  at 
once,  each  one  pulling  and  tugging  against  the  other. 
Now  Ned  would  shout  to  encourage  his  animal ;  then  Tom 
►Slaughter  would  yell  louder  in  detian'ce.  Now  one  dog 
would  come  down,  but  to  quickly  rise  and  tumble  the 
the  other;  and  the  struggle  was  continued  for  several 
minutes,  neither  dog  seeming  to  be  the  gainer.  In  order 
to  give  them  fresh  hold,  the  animals  were  separated  by  a 
great  effort,  and  the  maddened  brutes,  chafing  in  their 
blood,  could  with  difficulty  be  held  back.  Tom  Slaughter, 
growing  more  confident  in  the  power  or  endurance  of  his 
favorite,  taunted  his  opponent,  and  dared  him  to  double 
the  bets.  Ned  Hogg,  quite  enraged,  took  him  up,  and 
shouted  that  his  slut,  if  she  had  but  three  legs,  would  be 
more  than  a  match  for  Tom's  bitch,  with  four.  Tom's 
jeering  reply  only  exasperated  Ned,  who,  without  saying 
a  word,  took  hold  of  his  own  dog,  and,  having  tumbled 
her,  seized  a  short  iron  bar,  and  fiendishly  snapped  one 
of  her  hind  legs.*    This  bruf  al  act  was  applauded  by  sev- 

*  A  gimilar  ai-l  was  once  perpetrated  at  a  doiar  fight  ia  England;  the 
owner  chopped  off  his  dog's  log  with  a  butcher's  cleaver. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH.  '.'T 

cral.  and  tho  yelling,  limping  animal  was  again  let  looso, 
and  again  hor  savage  instincts  led  her  to  sntitch  hold  of 
her  assailant.  As  it  was,  tho  maimed  animal  made  a  des- 
perate struggle,  as  if  indifferent  to  her  terrible  injury, 
but  the  fight  was  too  unequal,  and  after  a  few  fierce,  but 
wild  attempts,  she  gave  way  and  tried  to  escape  from  tho 
ring. 

All  at  once  there  were  shouts  and  threats  and  great 
confusion ;  the  din  of  oaths  and  foul  language  was  hor- 
rible. The  landlords  and  their  adherents  dared  one  an- 
other ;  blows  were  struck,  and  tho  two  principals  stripped 
to  fight,  but  the  umpire,  one  of  the  miners,  a  i>oworful 
and  determined  looking  fellow,  named  Harry  Tamblin, 
with  the  aid  of  others,  kept  them  apart,  and,  for  over  an 
hour,  it  required  the  greatest  effort  to  prevent  a  general 
row,  and  to  get  the  excitement  sufficiently  calmed  to  per- 
mit the  chosen  actors  of  the  next  bloody  struggle  to  make 
their  appearance. 

All  were  again  in  waiting.  The  crowd  had  increased ;  a 
greater  number  of  women  and  boys  were  among  the  s|)cc- 
tjitors.  Harry  Tamblin,  master  of  the  ring— who  was 
resolute  for  fair  play— had  completed  his  arrangements 
!'or  the  next  hideous  entertainment,  and  it  was  expected 
Uiat  tho  coming  struggle  would  be  the  one  most  suitable 
for  the  expectant  savages. 

Two  clownish  looking  m.en  sprang  briskly  into  the  ring. 
One  was  Bob  Cuffer,  and  the  other  was  Jack  Clench,  a 
noted  wrestler  from  the  mines.  Both  were  strong,  active 
men,  and  had  that  acquired  swagger  indicative  of  the 
defiant  bully.  They  were  stripped  to  the  waist.  One  wore 
'AViiiit,  heavy  clogs,  and  the  other  had  thick,  hob-nailed 
shoes.  This  was  the  usual  way  in  which  pugilists  and 
wrestlers  on  the  Heath  were  shod  as  a  preparation  for 
"purring,"  which  maybe  explained  as  the  dextrous  use 
of  the  feet  in  kicking  the  shins,  breaking  tho  ribs,  punch- 
ing out  the  eyes,  or  exposing  the  brains  of  an  opitonent. 

Harry  Tamblin  now  placed  the  men  in  the  centre. 
They  stood  at  ease,  with  arms  folded,  and  wearing  a  smiio 


i. 

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I. 

IT  J 

98 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  indifferonne.  The  restless,  scrambling  crowd  wero 
once  more  pushed  back,  and  the  word  was  jjiven  to  begin. 
The  two  men  then  cooly  placed  their  hands  on  the  bare 
shoulders  of  each  other,  and  stood  for  a  few  moments  on 
the  alert.  Then  one  gave  a  quick  shove  back,  the  other  a 
sudden  side  jerk.  These  motions  wore  repeated,  each  man 
being  cool  and  guarded.  Then  there  was  jerking,  and 
kicking,  and  already  their  shins  were  cut  and  bleeding. 
They  then  closed  and  seized  each  other  round  the  body, 
and  tried  to  twist  and  hook  their  legs ;  there  was  more 
kicking,  and  from  their  knees  to  their  ankles  was  a  mass 
of  cuts,  bruises,  and  blood;  but  the  men  being  about  an 
equal  match,  neither  as  yet  fell.  Bob  Cuflfer  made  des- 
perate efforts  to  throw  his  man,  but  his  wounded  arm 
appeared  to  give  him  some  trouble.  His  antagonist  seem- 
ed to  know  this,  and,  after  several  attempts,  he  succeede<l 
in  giving  Bob  a  heavy  fall.  The  two  men  were  now  down, 
and  they  rolled,  and  tumbled,  and  kicked  each  other  with 
savage  ferocity,  and  now  the  furious  struggle  began  to 
excite  the  bystanders.  Bob  Cuffer  was  still  under,  and  ho 
clenched  his  teeth  first  in  the  cheek,  and  next  in  the  arm 
of  his  adversary,  and  held  on  to  the  bleeding  flesh  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  the  firmness  of  his  hold.  The  other 
man  partly  raised  himself,  and  commenced  to  kick  Bob 
on  the  side,  breast,  and  face,  while  his  particular  friends 
shouted,  "  Noos  thees  got  'im,  Jack,  go  into  'im,  lad ;  purr 
his  yed,  do ;  that's  a  good  un ;  smash  anoother  rib  vur  im. 
Eh,  Jiick,  thoort  a  great  un,  purr  'im,  i'  th'  goots.  Ha! 
he  veels  thee  noo,  Jack ;  go  in,  lad— that's  it."  ♦ 

The  unfortunate  man  that  was  being  thus  brutally 
treated,  still  held  on  with  his  teeth,  and  Bob's  friends 
would  cry  out,  by  way  of  encouragement,  '*  Hold  thee  in 
to  'im.  Bob,  hold  un,  lad,  hee'l  soon  give  way,  lad ;  keei> 
thy  moothful,  that's  a  good  un ;  "  but  a  few  more  of  thi> 
merciless  kicks  would  have  finished  Bob,  were  it  not  that 
Harry  Tamblin,  who  thought  it  was  time  to  interfere,  got 


*  See  Kote  s. 


>    ■. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


)9 


others  to  assist  him  in  separating  the  combatants;  anc 
when  they  now  stood  before  each  other,  the  sight  was  re- 
volting. Bob  Cuffer  was  one  mass  of  blood  and  bruises 
from  his  head  to  his  feet.  Three  of  his  ribs  had  been  bro- 
ken ;  his  left  eye  had  been  kicked  out,  and  it  hung  by  tlie 
tendons  on  his  face.  Jac)'  <>lt>nch  in  appearance  was 
almost  as  bad  ;  a  largo  hole  was  in  his  cheek,  from  which 
a  piece  had  been  bitten,  and  there  was  a  terrible  gaping 
wound  on  his  arm,  from  which  the  blood  flowed  copiously. 
As  the  men  stood  yet  defiantly  before  each  other— a  horrid 
spectacle— and  evidently  'v^t  unwilling  to  renew  their 
savagery,  the  quick  rattle  jf  vheels  was  heard ;  all  eyes 
were  turned  in  one  direction.  A  pair  of  horses  and  a  car- 
riage drove  hurredly  up  to  the  ring.  Two  persons  were 
seated  in  the  vehicle.  Old  Stephen's  white  hair  and  bent 
form,  were  at  once  recognized :  the  strange  gentleman  who 
had  been  driving,  immediately  sprang  from  his  seat,  and 
dashed  into  the  centre  of  the  ring.  He  got  between  the 
two  bleeding  wretches;  he  seized  them  both,  and  held 
them  apart  at  arm's  length,  then  quickly  looking  at  them 
and  those  around  him,  his  thrilling  voice  cried  out  aloud, 
'•  Are  ye  human  beings,  or  devils  ?  " 

Was  it  the  strange  voice  that  had  startled  the  young 
gypsy  woman?  Maheel  had  been  out  on  the  plain,  and 
had  seen  the  carriage  approaching.  Impelled  by  a  singu- 
lar feeling,  she  followed  it  closely,  and  as  soon  as  she  had 
a  full  view  of  the  stranger,  and  had  heard  his  voice,  she 
started  off  as  if  in  alarm,  and  ouce  more  entered  the  dis- 
tant tent  of  Zingari. 


''ri-. 


*^'^  ^ 


mmmmmimm 


CHAPTER   Xr. 


JOHN  VALIANT,  A   MISSIONABT. 

rpHOSE  who  had  been  dwollorsonlhe  Heath  during  a 
-*■  life  time  of  from  sixty  to  seventy  years  or  upwards, 
could  fairly  assert  that  they  had  never  been  more  aston- 
ished at  the  daring  of  a  complete  stranj^er  than  thoy  were 
at  the  conduct  of  the  unknown  man  who  now  stood  in  the 
centre  of  the  ring,  and  who  not  only  reproved  the  combat- 
ants but  sternly  reproached  those  who  stood  around  as 
spectators  of  the  disgraceful  struggle.  The  wild  people 
looked  at  one  another  in  amazement,  scarcely  believing 
the  evidence  of  their  senses.  Many  of  them  stood  agape, 
(luite  undecided  whether  to  act  according  to  their  usual 
impulse,  and  rob  and  maltreat,  or  give  a  death-blow  to 
the  officious  intruder ;  while  others  around  seemed  as  if 
awe  struck  by  something  which  appeared  so  elevated  and 
commanding  in  the  stranger.  One  herculean  woman  who 
felt  rather  interested  in  Bob  Cuffer,  and  who  misunder- 
standing the  motives  of  the  unknown  man,  and  under  the 
influence  of  old  hostility  to  outsiders,  had  raised  a  huge 
club  and  was  about  to  strike  down  the  unflinching  media- 
tor, but  was  held  back  by  Harry  Tamblin,  who,  though  a 
kind  of  referee  or  leader  among  these  people,  was  himself 
as  much  surprised  as  others  at  the  deliberate  manner  in 
which  tha. stranger  proceeded  i\f\ov  his  first  inteference 
with  the  wretched  champions.  The  wounded  men  seemed 
at  once  to  recognize  his  good  intentions,  and  they,  as  it 
Tyere  instinctively,  obeyed  him.    He  directed  them  to  be 


«:( 


THF  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


101 


sontrd  on  the  ^ronml,  and  ho  carefully  examined  their 
injuries,  while  old  Stephen  fr<»ni  his  seat  in  the  earriaije 
watehed,  like  .thers,  his  i)rocee(ling9  with  j?reat  interest. 
The  strange  Samaritan  first  attended  to  Bob  Cuffer,  who 
was  in  a  bad  condition,  and  like  one  possessed  of  the  skill 
of  asurj^'eon,  he  replaced  hisej'eaud  bandaged  his  wounds 
with  strips  of  linen  or  cotton  now  readily  procured  for  him 
by  some  of  the  women.  He  next  attended  to  Tom  Clench, 
and  with  the  aid  of  Harry  Tamblin,  who  was  now  willing 
enough  to  assist,  the  two  men  were  able  to  leave  the  ring. 
The  waiting  but  suspicious  crowd  at  last  grew  more  satis- 
fied ;  they  had  seen  a  generous  act  tenderly  performed 
without  fear  or  hoite  of  reward,  and  after  a  while  they 
began  to  think  that  the  humane  volunteer  was  neither  an 
unfeeling  detective,  nor  an  enemy. 

It  may  be  here  proper  to  give  some  account  of  this 
unexpected  visitor.  When  William  the  Conqueror  landed 
in  England,  among  his  followers  from  the  French  provin- 
ces, was  one  from  Normandy,  who  had  proved  his  devotion 
by  many  important  services.  William  amply  rewarded 
his  true  friends,  and  to  this  one  in  particular,  he  granted 
a  large  ostate  in  England— the  very  one  which  included 
the  Heath ;  and  also  recognizing  his  great  merit  as  a  sold- 
ier, he  surnaraed  him  VaUlant— Jean  Vaillant.  This 
appellation  was  readily  adopted  as  a  family  name  by  the 
Norman  soldier,  and  by  his  descendants  foralong  period; 
but  in  the  course  of  time,  as  the  French  names  Tonnelier, 
lUmlanger,  and  Meiinier,  had  become  Cooper,  Baker,  and 
Miller,  so  Vaillant  had  become  the  English  family  name 
of  Valiant,  and  has  thus  since  reniuined. 

Some  time  after  the  unexpected  death  t>f  the  Conqueror 
Jean  Vaillant  had  been  induced  to  join  the  Crusaders,  but 
like  thousands  of  other  deceived  fanatics  who  left  home 
and  country  to  rttack  the  Saracens,  he  never  returned 
from  Palestine.  His  family,  however,  remained  in  England 
and  his  descendants  for  centuru  :•,  held  possession  of  the 
f'state  which  had  been  granted  by  the  king,  until  in  the 
course  of  time,  during  a  peri  »d  of  revolution,  when  trea- 


m 


.1 

f 


'^'Sfcv^ 


■iHIII 


102 


THE  HEATH  I  N8  OF  THB  UF.ATH. 


I!;; 


son  was  rife,  and  when  kindly  tyranta  and  usurperM 
followed  Olio  another  in  quick  sueocssion,  one  of  these 
royal  plunderers  had  confiscated  the  land  which  had  been 
given  to  the  Norman  soldier.  The  last  of  the  Vaillants 
who  had  held  possession  was  slain  near  Pendell,  and  the 
touil)  stone  which  had  been  placed  ov(U*  his  remains  was 
that  which  lia<l  been  discovered  by  the  stranger  one  of 
his  descendents— whose  name  was  John  Valiant. 

This  last  representative  of  the  ancient  family  was  the 
only  son  of  the  Bovcrend  Henry  Valiant,  a  Protestant 
clergyman.  The  Valiant  s,  though  originally  Roman  Cath- 
lics,  had  become  imbued  with  the  prevailing  ideas  which 
followed  the  Reformation,  and,  guided  by  the  example  of 
kings,  bishoi)s,  priests  and  men  high  in  authority,  had 
changed  their  faith.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Valiant  having 
been  eminently  pious,  was  seleet«>d  by  one  of  the  great 
missionary  societies  to  carry  the  gospel  message  to  the 
"perishing"  natives  of  India;  and  John  Valiant,  then 
quite  young,  was  taken  from  school  in  order  to  accom- 
pany his  parents  to  Calcutta.  The  Reverend  Mr.  Valiant 
devoted  his  life  to  the  missionary  work,  and  though  he 
labored  assiduously  in  connection  with  such  men  as  Carey, 
and  Ward,  and  Duff,  and  Martin,  yet  near  the  close  of  his 
life,  which  was  prematurely  ended  in  India,  he  regretted 
to  be  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the  common  or  lowest 
caste  natives  of  that  country — whom  he  had  found  by  no 
comparison  to  be  as  destitute  and  as  grossly  ignorant  as 
the  same  class  of  persons  in  Britain— were  too  much  influ- 
enced by  the  superstitions  of  Hindooism  to  adopt  Chris- 
tianity. Nay,  ho  had  also  found  many  of  the  learned 
Brahmins  bold  enough  to  assert  that  they  could  fairly 
prove,  that  the  reli-^ious  traditions  of  Persia,  of  Egyj^t,  of 
Judea,  of  Greece,  and  of  Rome,  had  had  their  origin  in 
India,  and  that  the  doctrine  of  the  Bible  itself  had  been 
drawn  from  the  great  fountain  of  all  religions,  the  sacred 
Vedas  of  the  Hindoos;  and  he  was  also  aware  that  the 
powerful  arguments  of  an  able  Brahmin  had  succeeded  in 
persuading  even  one  of  the  Christian   Missionaries  to 


1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


103 


change  his  faith.*  After  his  father's  death,  young  John 
Valiant  was  soon  called  upon  to  mourn  the  loss  of  his 
mother.  Though  now  left  without  a  single  relative  in 
India,  he  had,  however,  many  warm  friends,  and  guided 
by  them  he  remained  to  pursue  his  studies  in  one  of  the 
principal  institutions  in  the  country.  "While  here  ho 
became  intimately  acquainted  with  many  of  the  sons  of 
wealtliy  natives,  wlio  were  receiving  a  liberal  edmmtion, 
and  he  was  suri)rised  to  find  that  though  these  young 
men  were  under  the  tuition  of  Christian  professors,  and 
liad  had  many  opportunities  of  Iiearing  the  strongest 
arguments  which  could  be  adduced  in  favor  of  the  Chris- 
tian religion,  yet  not  one  of  these  persons  to  liis  know- 
ledge had  ever  clianged  his  faith,  or  accepted  the  doctrines 
of  the  Bible.f  Being  a  close  ai)plicant,  in  course  of  time 
he  acquired  a  knowledge  of  Sanscrit,  and  could  converse 
in  Hindostanee  and  other  native  tongues,  and  he  not  only 
became  well  versed  in  the  sacred  literature  of  the  Hindoos, 
but  had  on  many  occasions  heard  expositions  of  the  Vedas 
by  learned  Brahmins.  He  was  familiar  with  natives  of 
every  caste,  and  was  so  liberal  in  his  opinions,  and  gen- 
erous in  his  impulses,  tliat  his  enlarged  views  and  benevo- 
lent tiisposition  made  him  a  general  favorite. 

Upon  leaving  college,  he  secured  an  engagement  in  a 
wealthy  mercantile  house,  and  through  the  influence  of 
friends,  as  well  as  by  his  excellent  business  habits,  he  rose 
by  degrees  to  a  high  position,  and  traveled  as  a  superin- 

*  Missionary  Boborts  by  Bammoh  jq  Roy. 

*  The  Reverend  Dr.  Prime,  alluding  to  the  great  Christian  collecres 
eHtablished  by  Dr.  DufT  and  othnrs  in  Calcutta,  and  which  *'  numbered 
nearly  fourteen  hundred  pupils."  admits  that  "these  Institutions  are 
open  to  students  of  all  religions,  and  the  mass  ol  them  ar»^  Hindoos 
or  Mohammedans.  Only  in  rare  instances  have  they  renounced  the 
faith  n£  their  fathers,  while  fewer  still  have  become  rnal  Christians. 

It  1»  not  the  desire  to  become  acquainted  with  Christian  truth, 
much  less  to  bei^ome  Christians,  that  indu«^es  so  many  youth  to 
crowd  these  foreign  seminaries  of  leaintner.  They  are  anxious  to 
become  qualifled  to  All  the  various  lucrative  posts  which,  in  connec- 
tion with  the  commerce  and  business  of  the  country,  are  open  to  the 
Dtttlvea.'-Arouud  the  World,  p.  -215.    N.  York,  187'i. 


*4ii' 


i4 
■  '1 


I 


Is. 


§|: 


104 


THE  1IEATUEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


n 


tondont  through  many  parts  of  Imlia.  His  knowledge  of 
the  country  was  extensive,  and  during  the  terrible  Sepoy 
rebellion,  he  proved  to  be  of  groat  service  not  only  to  the 
government,  but  to  many  of  the  natives  by  his  interferenoo 
in  their  behalf.  He  was  also  at  Cawnpore  during  the 
fearful  massacre  at  that  pla«^<\  and  while  there,  though  he 
was  himself  in  imminent  (l;in;;<;r,  yot  he  succeeded  in  sav- 
ing the  life  of  one  distinguished  English  lady,  and  the 
life  of  the  daughter  of  a  wealthy  Parsce  merchant  of 
Bombay.  After  the  close  of  the  rebellion  he  went  to 
reside  in  that  city,  and  married  the  Parsee  lady  whom  he 
had  saved,  though  she  risked  the  loss  of  caste  In  marrying 
a  stranger.  He  lived  a  hai)py  life  with  her  for  about  ten 
years,  when  she  died,  leaving  him  one  son.  John  Valiant 
was  at  the  time  almost  Inconsolable;  but  though  this 
affliction  was  terrible  yet  his  trouble  did  not  end  here. 
He  had  sent  his  son,  then  almost  eight  years  old,  on  a 
visit  to  some  of  his  mother's  relatives  nearly  one  hundred 
miles  from  Bombay,  and  In  about  a  month  from  the  time 
of  his  wife's  death,  the  news  reached  him  that  his  boy  had 
been  seized  by  some  wandering  Thugs— whose  religion 
teaches  them  that  it  is  no  crime  to  murder— and  he  was 
tortured  by  the  most  dreadful  apprehensions.  Every 
effort  that  man  could  make  to  recover  this  child  had 
proved  unavailing.  Nearly  a  year  had  passed  In  the 
search,  and  the  only  consoling  information  he  could  ob- 
tain concerning  him  was  that  a  child,  answering  the 
description  of  his  son,  had  by  some  means  got  Into  the 
hands  of  a  Presbyterian  missionary  who  was  returning  to 
England,  and  that  the  boy  had  been  taken  to  that  country. 
Under  these  severe  afflictions  John  Valiant's  health  had 
become  much  imi)aired;  and  the  general  sympathy  for 
him  was  very  great.  Though  he  had  been  for  a  long  time 
in  the  hot  climate  of  India,  its  influence  at  this  juncture 
upon  his  constitution  was  rather  severe,  and  his  physician 
recommended  a  long  sea  voyage.  Such  a  voyage  he  found 
in  fact  to  be  necessary,  for  the  familiar  scenes  which  re- 
minded him  of  the  happy  days  he  had  spent  with  his  wife, 


lii 


THE   IIKATHKN'S  OF  THK    HKATJI. 


ior» 


had  a  mostdeinessingoffoct  ui)ou  his  sinrits,  and  a  cliauKo 
inighl  be  benoUcial.  Besides  it  wus  liis  duly  uul  to  rest 
until  he  had  found  some  relkible  tidings  ot'  hissoii;  and 
lio  made  up  hia  mind  tliat  in  cuso  lie  should  not  succeed 
in  his  search,  to  spend  liis  wealth,  whicli  was  very  great, 
in  the  i)urchase,  if  possible,  of  the  old  family  estate  in 
En^dand,  and  to  make  that  property  available  for  the 
beucllt  of  a  class  of  overworked,  distressed  peoi»le  in  his 
native  country,  whom  lie  believed  to  be  far  inorti  destitute 
and  degraded  than  any  similar  class  met  with  in  his  trav- 
els through  various  parts  of  India. 

In  fact,  the  life  of  John  Valiant  had  been  spent  so  far 
in  doing  good  to  others ;  there  was  not  the  least  degree  of 
selfishness  in  his  nature.  Were  he  the  father  of  half  a 
dozen  sons,  he  would  not,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  enrich- 
ing them,  or  to  secure  for  them  a  life  of  sluggish  ease— as 
wealthy  ecclesiastics  and  many  rich  Christians  are  wont 
to  do — forget  his  common  relationshii)  to  mankind.  From 
his  heart  he  pitied  the  children  of  others,  who  were  forced 
to  face  a  life  of  poverty  and  hardship;  and  he  did  all  he 
could  to  smooth  their  rugged  way.  His  theory  was,  that 
poverty  could  not  prevail  to  any  great  extent,  were  it  not 
for  the  general  grasping  and  cuiudity  of  many  of  the 
great  and  the  wealthy.  He  believed  that  nionopoly  of  the 
land— the  present  old  established  system— was  but  rob- 
bery, and  that  any  government  which  secured  vast  tracts 
of  real  estate,  either  by  grant  or  by  purchase,  to  one  indi- 
vidual, did  so  at  the  expense  of  the  natural  rights  of 
others.  He  was  of  the  opinion  that  the  earth  was  tlie 
common  property  of  all,  and  that  every  person  was  enti- 
tled to  that  certain  portion  of  land,  sufficient  to  cultivate 
for  his  own  sustenance,  or  for  that  of  his  family— and  to 
that  portion  only;  that  by  such  a  distribution  of  the  land, 
and  until  a  better  system  prevailed,  all  who  were  able  and 
willing  to  work,  would  be  comparatively  independent  and 
secure  from  poverty ;  the  aged,  the  sickly,  and  the  infirm, 
he  claimed,  should  be  sui)ported  by  the  State,  as  children 
would  be  supported  by  a  kind  parent.    He  also  considered 


,$it 


§1, 


•  'J 


^i 


106 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


|!n  'i 


]  :•  ; 


that  so-called  existing  rights,  which  interfered  with  the 
equitable  apportionment  of  land,  were  but  existing  wronus 
which  legislation  should  abolish  as  speedily  as  possible. 
It  was  even  his  conviction  that  as  nations  found  it  neces- 
sary to  secure  a  balance  of  power  among  rulers,  and  were 
nnw'Uing  to  permit  any  one  government  to  acquire  too 
mai.y  possessions,  or  attain  too  extended  an  influence; 
so,  in  order  to  prevent  mercantile  monopoly,  or  social 
tyranny,  individuals  should  be  limited  as  to  the  amount  of 
wealth  they  sh-.uid  be  permitted  to  accumulate.  He 
would  often  .my,  that  were  the  claims  of  Justice  but  fully 
granted,  the  labor  of  Charity  would  be  forever  very  light. 

Though  John  Valiant  had  peculiar  notions  on  the  sub- 
ject of  religion,  and  though  perfectly  tolerant  to  all,  ho 
had  given  no  aid  toward  the  erection  of  churches  or  tem- 
ples, or  places  of  worship  of  any  kind ;  yet  he  was  a  pat- 
ron of  schools,  of  colleges,  of  hospitals  and  of  asylums. 
Charitable  associations  had  Leen  formed  by  him,  and 
there  was  not  a  benevolent  institution  within  his  reach 
which  had  not  been  benefitted  by  his  ready  munificence. 
So  highly  was  he  esteemed,  that  in  more  than  one  of  these 
places  his  portrait  could  be  seen  in  the  most  conspicuous 
position— the  readily  recognized,  well-built,  middle-sized 
man;  the  brown  hair;  the  high  forehead;  the  blue  eye, 
in  which  there  was  nothing  stern ;  the  large,  well-shaped 
nose ;  the  mouth,  almost  hidden  in  a  profusion  of  soft 
beard,  and  the  expression  of  the  handsome  face  pleasin?'' 
and  benevolent.  The  portrait  was  not  only  respected  y 
high  caste  natives,  but  revered  by  many  an  humble  pariah. 

It  might  be  truly  said,  that  there  was  a  day  of  sorrow 
in  Bombay  when  John  Valiant  was  about  to  take  his  de- 
parture from  that  city.  Kepresentatives  of  all  classes, 
Hindoos,  Parsees,  Mohammedans,  Indo-Britons  and  oth- 
ers, the  great  and  the  humble,  flocked  to  the  spacious 
harbor  to  take  leave  of  one  who  had  worthily  gained  the 
name  of  being  a  public  benefactor.  Hundreds  of  the 
poorer  peoi)le,  whom  he  had  serve/'  without  distinction, 
lined  the  shore,  and  soon  singled  out  the  vessel  in  which 


he 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


107 


he  had  embarked.  They  watched  the  anchors  as  they 
were  gradually  drawn  up,  and  the  monotonous  chorus  of 
the  sailors,  as  they  turned  the  capstan,  sounded  to  the 
listeners  on  shore  like  a  wail  on  the  waters.  As  the  huge 
ship  which  was  to  bear  away  the  common  friend  of  all, 
swung  slowly  from  her  moorings,  invocations  were  uttered 
by  men  of  different  creeds ;  and  beseeching  hands  were 
raised  to  Brahma,  to  Zoroaster,  to  Mahomet,  to  Christna, 
and  to  Christ,  that  the  beloved  wanderer  might  be  pro- 
tected on  the  distant  deep,  and  that  no  wild  storm  or 
disastrous  hurricane  might  cross  the  fathomless  leagues 
over  which  he  had  to  be  borne. 

While  a  thousand  eyes  were  gazing  in  one  direction,  the 
evening  shadows  seemed  fco  steal  down  and  rest  upon  the 
fluttering  sails ;  the  fading  glory  of  the  sunset  appeared 
to  sink  into  the  heaving  bosom  of  the  wide  sea ;  and  as 
the  vessel  moved  off  on  her  lonely  way,  cheer  after  cheer 
was  heard  from  shore  and  from  ship.  The  deep  boom 
of  a  farewell  gun  resounded  along  hill,  and  shore,  and 
bay;  and  though  sturdy  men,  who  had  cheered,  could 
have  wept,  Hindoo  mothers  who  could  not  cheer,  were 
weeping ;  and  little  dark-eyed  children  of  the  East,  who 
had  neither  wept  nor  cheered,  were  muttering  the  name 
of  John  Valiant,  even  in  their  mother's  arms.  Ere  night 
had  spread  its  gloom  upon  the  scene,  the  dim  uncovered 
form  of  one  man  could  be  seen  at  the  stern  of  the  ship, 
waving  adieu,  as  it  were,  to  the  receding  chore ;  and  when 
darkness  had  at  last  closed  around  John  Valiant,  and  had 
hidden  him  from  the  view  of  all,  the  most  tender  feelings 
of  those  of  different  nations  and  tribes— the  genial  im- 
pulse of  our  common  humanity— were  touched  and  awak- 
ened in  many  a  heart,  and  many  then  wept  in  the  shades 
of  that  dismal  night,  as  if  bewailing  the  loss  of  a  true  and 
only  brother. 


if!?'  *' 


pi>'TWjW  i.M.t^pinnBii|i  piipi iiiiiyi |iii.mniwiiMn.m. 


■^ ■!  i"iiimPi"IIIPPP>Bpi.ii.M^  UWilfaui  I V 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE  MISSIONARY  AT  WORK. 

TOHN  VALIANT  landed  in  Liverpool  on  his  fortieth 
•-'  birthday.  The  long  voyage  from  India  had  been  very 
serviceable,  and  his  health  was  much  improved.  Though 
still  depressed  in  spirit,  he  felt  that  it  was  his  duty  to  bear 
up  under  the  most  severe  trials— as  such  trials  were  the 
common  lot  of  all— and  to  be  actively  engaged  in  making 
his  life  useful  to  others.  Being  of  a  hopeful  disposition, 
he  yet  trusted  that  the  dark  cloud  which  seemed  to  hang 
over  his  future  would  be  removed,  and  that  sunlight  and 
brighter  skies  would  cheer  his  after  years.  The  agony  of 
mind  which  he  endured  in  consequence  of  the  loss  of  his 
son,  did  not,  however,  lead  him  to  despair  of  ever  seeing 
him  again;  it  was  the  uncertainty  of  the  bleak  period 
^hich  might  elapse  before  that  son  would  be  restored 
that  made  the  present  time  so  dreary. 

After  an  absence  of  nearly  twenty  years  he  was  again 
in  his  native  land.  His  native  land?  How  unmeaning 
was  the  flippant  phrase !  The  land  was  now  to  him  as  a 
foreign  shore— a  land  of  strangers.  Whom  did  he  know 
among  the  thousands  that  he  met  every  day  in  his  wan- 
derings ?  He  might  have  felt  less  loneliness  in  a  desert ; 
not  a  familiar  face  to  be  seen  among  those  he  called  his 
countrymen.  He  could  not  say  that  he  had  a  relative  in 
all  England,  unless  his  son  might  happily  be  living  in  the 
land.  If  he  had  ever  heard  of  one  from  his  parents,  the 
long  years  which  had  passed  since  their  death,  and  the 


il 


li 


TUE  lTF.\Tin:N8  OF  THE  HE\TH. 


100 


!     I 


many  stranj^e  events  of  his  own  life,  had  left  his  memory 
a  complete  blank  as  to  any  information  he  had  ever 
received  relating  to  family  connections,  except  what  he 
happened  to  know  of  the  general  family  history.  Neither 
had  he  any  letters  or  documents  from  which  he  could 
glean  the  least  information  in  that  resi>ect ;  for  such  as 
his  father  had  left  had  been  destroyed  with  many  other 
records  during  the  great  mutiny  in  India.  He  had,  how- 
ever, several  letters  of  introduction,  he  had  ample  re- 
sources, and  he  had  determined  that  after  a  few  days'  rest 
in  London,  he  would  re-commence  his  search  for  his  son, 
and  ascertain  all  he  could  as  to  the  chance  of  ever  becom- 
ing possessed  of  the  old  family  estate  near  Pendell. 

First,  then,  in  order  to  find  out  who  or  where  the  mis- 
sionary was  that  was  supposed  to  have  taken  a  foreign 
child  to  England,  he  had  made  many  enquiries,  and  was 
advised  to  call  at  some  of  the  principal  Mission  Houses  of 
London.  He  could  not  tell  the  exact  time  that  the  mis- 
sionary had  left  Bombay,  nor  to  what  port  in  England  he 
had  been  destined,  but  after  having  visited  two  or  three 
of  these  different  religious  agencies,  he  ascertained  that  a 
Presbyterian  minister  had  landed  in  Liverpool  from  Bom- 
bay about  three  months  previous  to  the  time  of  his  own 
arrival,  and  that  the  minister  had  with  him,  besides  his 
wife  and  a  little  Parsee  girl,  a  Hindoo  lady  and  a  boy 
about  eight  or  nine  years  of  age,  whom  she  claimed  to  be 
her  nephew ;  and  that  these  i)ersons  had  been  baptized 
and  were  reputed  to  be  converts  to  Christianity.  This 
preacher,  he  was  informed,  had  left  England  and  was  then 
in  Belfast,  in  the  north  of  Ireland.  Mr.  Valiant  then  took 
the  name  and  address  of  the  minister,  with  the  intention 
of  going  to  Ireland  as  soon  as  circumstances  would 
permit. 

While  making  enquiries  at  the  different  Mission  Houses, 
the  agents  finding  that  he  had  resided  so  long  in  India, 
and  had  such  a  knowledge  of  that  far  off  laud  and  its  vari- 
ous inhabitants,  seldom  obtained  by  strangers,  asked 
several  questions  as  to  the  state  of  that  country,  the  con- 


;*  ' 


'  0 


'■ifc. 


.#1 

..  ■'it . 

rf*--**;  ft) 


!f 


It: 


m 


1 1. 

It 


;  ] 


pmHMHPmi 


rntrn^.- 


no 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dition  of  the  natives  socially  and  morally,  and  whether  in 
his  opinion  the  great  superstition  which  overshadowed 
the  minds  of  those  remarkable  people  was  soon  likely  to 
give  way  to  the  illuminating  power  of  the  pure  gospel.  He 
replied  that  as  a  general  thing  the  i^eople  of  India  were 
quite  indifferent  to  Christianity,  looking  upon  it  as  a  relijjf- 
ion  far  inferior  to  their  own ;  that  every  nation  and  tribe 
in  that  vast  territory  seemed  to  be  devoted  to  its  own  form 
of  superstition;  and  that  among  Brahmins,  Buddhists, 
Mohammedans,  and  Parsees,  with  whom  he  had  long 
dwelt  in  India  and  in  other  countries,  and  who  comprise 
over  two-thirds  of  the  whole  human  race,  he  had  found  as 
much  integrity  and  kindness  of  heart  as  he  had  ever  found 
among  Christians.  His  answers  led  them  to  wonder  at 
the  extent  of  his  information ;  and  when  he  informed  them 
that  there  were  thousands  of  poor  wretches  even  in  Lon- 
don who  were  much  more  ignorant,  destitute  and  depraved 
than  any  of  the  Hindoos  or  Buddhists  he  ever  met  in  his 
travels,  they  seemed  willing  to  admit  the  fact,  but  rejoined 
that  such  natives  of  the  East,  though  perhaps  actually 
more  comfortable  as  to  worldly  circumstances,  were  yet 
more  destitute  than  the  poorest,  because  in  their  natural 
state  unbelievers  were  under  condemnation,  not  having 
ever  heard  the  glad  tidings  of  salvation ;  and  some  High 
Churchmen  had  gone  so  far  as  to  tell  him  that  those 
squalid  and  impoverished  natives  of  Britain  to  whom  he 
had  alluded,  were  really  better  off  than  Pagans  possibly 
could  be,  inasmuch  as  most  of  the  paupers  of  England  had 
had  at  least  the  benefit  of  Christian  baptism. 

During  his  conversation  with  the  missionary  agents,  he 
also  learned  that  there  were  not  only  missions  to  Turkey, 
to  India,  to  China,  to  Japan,  to  the  Pacific  islands,  and  to 
frozen  regions  in  the  north— missions  to  the  heathen,  but 
actually  missions  also  to  Christian  nations.  Protestants 
had  sent  missionaries  to  convert  Roman  Catholics,  and 
Catholics  had  sent  missionaries  to  convert  Protestants. 
Besides  this  he  well  knew  that  there  were  what  might  be 
called  minor,  or  sectarian  missions.    These  are  to  some 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


'n 


extent  sustained  by  restless  preachers  who  are  ever  ready 
to  travel  about  and  engage  in  sharp  discussions  for  the 
l>urpose  of  gaining  adherents  to  their  particular  views. 
The  Christianity  of  Europe  is  torn  into  shreds  by  sects. 
In  England  the  Churchman  repudiates  the  Dissenter,  who 
is  solemnly  warned  to  return  to  the  fold,  out  of  which 
there  is  no  safety.  Then  the  Dissenters,  while  declaiming 
against  Church  pretensions,  dispute  among  themselves. 
The  Presbyterian  denounces  the  Methodist,  the  Methodist 
the  Baptist,  and  the  Baptist  takes  a  higli  stand  against  all 
others.  Indeed  he  actually  found  more  hostility  towards 
OMc  another  among  Protestant  sects  in  England,  than  he 
had  ever  found  among  heathen  sects  in  India ;  and  he  also 
had  reason  to  fancy  that  many  Protestant  fanatics  would 
prefer  to  proseletize  a  hostile  sectarian  than  they  would  to 
convert  a  foreign  unbeliever  to  Christianity.  On  the  whole 
he  was  satisfied  that  the  money  annually  spent  in  the 
mission  service— the  large  sum  required  to  send  out  mis- 
sionaries and  their  families,  to  pay  agents,  clerks,  printers, 
and  others  connected  with  such  establishments — was  in 
the  aggregate  an  amount  sufficient  to  endow  a  vast  char- 
itable institution ;  and  that  the  results  so  far,  for  all  this 
outlay,  particularly  in  India,  were  but  very  meagre.  Mis- 
sionaries had  from  time  to  time  complained  of  their  want 
of  success,  and  had  perhaps  attributed  their  slow  progress 
to  any  thing  but  the  proper  cause ;  and  he  gave  it  as  his 
opinion  that  if  the  large  expenditure,  which  he  considered 
only  wasted  in  India,  were  but  properly  expended  at 
home,  for  the  benefit  of  the  British  paupers,  there  would 
be  fewer  harrowing  events  to  be  recorded  of  the  ignorance, 
distress,  and  social  misery  prevailing  in  Great  Britain, 
that  reputed  land  of  i)iety  and  wealth.* 

During  his  stay  in  London,  John  Valiant  being  desirous 
of  obtaining  information  about  Pendell  and  its  neighbor- 
hood, was  recommended  to  call  on  the  Rev.  George  Mor- 
ton, rector  of  Pendeli,  who  at  that  time  v/as  living  in  his 

•  See  Note  4. 


mfK. 


4 


112 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


''{■ 


In 


1.: 


't- 


city  residence.  He  found  the  rector's  dwelling  to  be  one 
of  the  most  stylish,  and  located  iu  a  quarter  noted  for  its 
aristocratic  pretensions ;  and  the  rector  himself,  as  a  hum- 
ble servant  of  the  Church,  seemed  to  be  in  the  enjoyment 
of  the  greatest  abundance  of  worldly  comforts.  No  doubt, 
the  Reverend  Rector,  like  others  of  his  class,  cheerfully 
performed  much  religious  drudgery  among  the  poorest  of 
his  people  in  more  tnau  one  parish,  and  in  his  ample  dis- 
tribution of  spiritual  food  to  c.hers,  his  own  ghostly  pab- 
ulum might  at  times  have  become  a  little  delicient,  and 
his  pious  hopes  rather  saddeied,  particularly  when  he 
mourned  over  the  grievous  secular  destitution  existing 
among  those  very  people  to  whom  he  had  ministered. 
Next  to  fervent  prayer,  the  Rector  might  have  therefore 
found  the  comfoit  and  relaxation  of  a  dip  into  fashionable 
life — by  way  of  contrast— just  the  very  thing  to  stimulate 
him  to  further  exertions  among  the  poor  of  the  Lord,  us 
well  as  among  sinners  in  the  sanctuary. 

Not  being  able  to  obtain  from  Mr.  Morton  the  informa- 
tion he  required,  the  Reverend  gentleman  gave  him  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  his  Curate  at  Pendell ;  and  in  a 
few  days  afterward  he  presented  himself  at  the  rural  i^ar- 
sonage.    He  found  the  Rev.  Mr.  Meade  the  very  person  he 
wished  to  find— like  a  father,  like  an  old  friend  -altogether 
most  courteous  and  agreeable.    He  was  delighted  with 
the  scenery  of  the  valley,  and  had  a  dream-like  recollec- 
tion of  the  place ;  for  his  father,  previous  to  his  departure 
for  India,  had  taken  him  on  a  holiday  visit  to  see  the 
ancient  Manor  House,  on  the  old  estate.    What  a  differ- 
ence he  found  between  the  modest  parsonage  of  the  poor 
curate— the  man  who  worked— and  the  stylish  city  resi- 
dence of  the  wealthy  rector,  who  perhaps  only  prayed! 
Yet  there  was  something  so  quietly  beautiful  in  the  sur- 
roundings of  the  unpretending  house  of  Mr.  Meade,  with 
its  white  walls,  its  patch  of  dark  green  ivy,  its  quaint 
windows,  with  small  diamond-shaped  panes,  its  shading 
vines,  and  its  climbing,  clustering  roses  round  the  door 
way,  and  then  there  was  the  pleasant  lawn,  dotted  with 


H 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


118 


trees,  sloping  down  to  meet  the  boulders,  the  gravel,  the 
shells,  and  the  ripples  on  the  beach,  that  he  would  have 
readily  chosen  it  as  a  model  for  his  own  dwelling-place. 

As  Miss  Meade  was  absent  from  home — she  had  at  last 
been  prevailed  on  to  visit  the  Rector's  wife— and  as  Mr. 
Meade  could  not,  on  that  account,  well  offer  his  hospital- 
ity, he  accepted  Mr.  Valiant's  invitation  to  dinner  at  the 
inn.  While  there,  T^r.  Meade  gave  his  new  friend  a  long 
account  of  the  changes  that  had  taken  place  at  Pendell ; 
he  told  him  about  the  poor  of  the  parish,  the  low  condi- 
tion of  the  wild  people  of  the  Heath,  and  gave  him  some 
important  information  as  to  the  legal  position  of  the 
old  family  estate,  which  he  told  him  had  been  advertised 
for  some  time,  by  a  final  order  in  Chancery,  and  was  to  be 
sold  in  less  than  a  week.  This  was  indeed  information  of 
the  most  important  kind  to  him ;  and,  as  there  was  little 
time  for  delay,  John  Valiant  started  that  evening  for  Lon- 
don. The  sale  took  place  as  was  advertised,  the  land  was 
sold  at  a  low  price,  and  he  went  back  to  Pendell  within 
five  days  from  ^hat  time  the  purchaser  and  sole  proprietor 
of  over  a  thousand  acres  of  the  Manor,  called  Mayston. 

Upon  his  return  from  the  city,  he  soon  became  ac- 
quainted with  nearly  all  in  the  neighborhood  of  Pendell ; 
he  knew  many  also  in  the  adjoining  parish  of  Betnall. 
There  was  nothing  like  pretension  in  his  manner,  and 
many  wondered  that  a  person  like  him,  the  wealthy  owner 
of  a  large  property,  could  be  so  easily  approached,  and  so 
familiar  with  poor  working  men,  and  even  with  children. 
He  had  already  placed  in  the  Curate's  hands  an  ample 
sum  to  distribute  among  the  deserving  poor.  He  went  to 
visit  old  Sarah  Afton,  and  spent  an  hour  in  her  cottage ; 
and  Sarah,  as  well  as  others,  was  loud  in  his  praise.  He 
sought  out  old  Stephen  Gray,  and  went  with  him  to  the 
cemetery—as  Bob  CufFer  had  stated— to  find  an  old  family 
tomb.  Next  to  Mr.  Meade,  he  made  a  companion  of  old 
Stephen,  he  was  fond  of  listening  to  his  simple  recitals ; 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  decided  to  visit  the  people  of  the 
Heath,  he  took  him  along  as  his  only  protector,,  rightly 


mi 

frstn 


i 


n 


lU 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


r 


ii 


i  t'r- 


judging,  that  with  such  a  person,  he  could  win  more  con- 
fidence than  he  should  were  he  accompanied  by  a  score  of 
constables,  or  surrounded  by  a  company  of  grenadiers. 

When  the  wounded  men  had  left  the  ring,  and  whon 
the  exciteraent  attendant  on  the  occasion  had  in  some 
measure  subsided,  John  Valiant  stood  quietly  among  the 
people— the  central  object— as  if  scanning  the  faces  of 
those  around  him.  Not  a  word  was  spoken,  and  as  his 
eyes  wandered  from  one  to  another,  he  appeared  to  be  in 
deep  thought,  as  if  anxious  to  read  their  very  hearts.  The 
calm,  resolute  bearing  of  the  stranger  seemed  to  win  not 
only  admiration,  but  something  also  akin  to  submission. 
The  crowd  gradually  increased.  One  by  one  came  to  look 
at  the  man  who  had,  perhaps,  just  saved  a  life— saved  a 
man  from  being  publicly  slaughtered— and  who  had  bound 
up  the  bruises  and  wounds  of  the  unfortunate  wretchos ; 
the  man  who,  besides  this,  had  the  r'uring  to  utter  a 
reproof  to  all.  Yet  nearly  all  who  had  heard  that  reproof, 
had  now  a  kind  of  vague  idea  that  it  was  deserved ;  and 
they  felt  that  in  the  words  which  had  been  uttered,  there 
was  not  one  of  anger.  On  the  people  came,  young  and 
old,  from  different  parts  of  the  Heath ;  even  many  of  tlie 
Gypsies,  impelled  by  a  natural  curiosity,  hurried  from 
their  distant  camps,  and  stood  around  the  ring.  In  a 
short  time,  John  Valiant  moved  toward  the  cariiage,  the 
people  made  way  for  him,  and  when  he  entered  the  vehi- 
cle, he  stood  alongside  old  Stephen,  and  appeared  in 
full  view  before  them  all.  The  carriage  was  now  .quickly 
surrounded,  eager  faces  were  turned  upward,  and  every 
one  present  seemed  to  expect  that  the  stranger  would  say 
something  before  his  departure.  While  all  were  thus 
waiting,  his  clear  voice  was  now  heard  uttering  this  kind 
address : 

"My  friends,  you  have,  no  doubt,  been  surprised  at  my 
visit.  I  have  but  lately  come  from  a  far  country,  and, 
though  a  stranger,  I  was  anxious  to  be  among  you,  and  to 
learn  for  myself,  whether  the  reports  which  I  have  heard 
about  you  were  correct,  and  whether  the  people  of  this 


<( 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


115 


wide  plain,  aro  as  wild,  as  wicked,  and  as  ferocious  as  has 
been  represented.  I  was  cautioned  not  to  come  her  be- 
cause it  was  said  that  as  you  cared  but  little  for  human 
life,  that  as  you  could  not  be  grateful  for  kindness,  my 
own  life  was  in  danger.  But  you  see  I  came  to  this  place 
without  fear,  this  old  man  being  my  only  protector.  I 
came  to  find  your  condition  most  dei)lorable,  and  to  find 
that  you  have  not  only  been  badly  treated  by  your  fellow- 
men,  but  urged  '^n  to  infamy.  I  came,  and  have  witnessed 
your  poverty,  your  wickedness,  and  your  barbarous  pas- 
time; and,  after  all,  though  I  have  given  you  a  plain 
reproof,  yet  you  have  not  so  far  injured  mo ;  and  I  am  now 
satisfied  that,  bad  as  you  have  been  represented,  that  bad 
as  you  really  are,  your  hearts  still  contain  germs  of  good- 
ness; that  you  can  be  grateful  to  those  who  are  kind  to 
you ;  and  that  you  can  be  raised  from  your  present  low 
state,  to  become  in  time  as  honest,  as  diligent,  and  as 
much  respected  as  others." 

Here  the  feelings  of  the  people  being  evidently  touch- 
ed, as  if  the  first  blessed  ray  of  hope  had  just  dawned 
on  their  minds.  All  present  gave  a  long,  loud  cheer,  and 
he  then  continued : 

"  Now,  my  friends,  as  I  pity  you  all,  my  object  from  this 
day  forward,  if  you  are  willing  to  help  me,  will  be  to  try 
and  improve  your  condition.  I  stand  here  as  the  owner 
of  this  land ;  I  am  the  sole  owner  of  this  old  estate ;  I  own 
the  Manor  House,  and  the  entire  Manor  of  Mayston. 
This  land  once  belonged  to  my  forefathers;  it  has  now 
come  into  my  possession,  and  as  it  is  more  than  I  ever 
want  to  use,  I  wish  to  make  it  serviceable  to  others.  I  do 
not  want  to  drive  you  away  from  this  Heath ;  I  want  you 
to  remain.  I  want  to  keep  you  all  with  me,  if  you  are 
willing  to  stay.  I  desire  to  see  this  wild,  barren  plain 
improved,  and  made  green  and  inviting.  I  wish  to  secure 
to  each  of  you  who  is  willing  to  cultivate  it,  a  piece  of 
land ;  I  want  to  see  each  of  you  have  his  own  cottage,  and 
his  own  pleasant  garden ;  I  want  to  have  a  schoolhouse 
erected,  and  to  liud  your  children— and  even  yourselves— 


1 

t                         : 

tt   If, 

1 

!                  1 
• 

lid 


THK   HKATHr.NS  Ol'  THK   HKATH. 


I  t'l 


, '  )■■ 


i!-|i 


learn  useful  knowledge ;  and  I  want  to  see  you  all  lead 
peaceable,  sober,  intlustrious  lives.  I  have  had  my  own 
afflictions;  it  will  li^'hten  thorn  to  bo  engaged  with  you  in 
this  approach  to  civilization.  Will  j'ou,  then,  friends, 
help  me  to  bring  about  this  change  ?  "  Cries  of  **  we  will, 
we  will!"  "I  want  to  improve  the  whole  estate;  you 
shall  have  an  interest  in  that  improvement,  and  every  day 
you  truly  serve,  shall  bring  its  true  reward;  and  lastly,  I 
want  to  see  you  and  your  children  go  out  into  the  parishes, 
and  to  any  other  place  in  the  whole  kingdom,  without 
being  watched,  without  being  dreaded,  and  without  being 
despised.  Now,  my  friends,  I  ask  once  more,  shall  wc 
work  together  for  this  great  end?"  Cries  of,  "Yes,  yes, 
yes !  "  '•  Well,  then,  be  it  so.  I,  John  Valiant,  am  willing 
to  take  you  all  on  trust ;  remember  that,  and  remember 
the  name.  I  must  now  leave  here  to  visit  the  old  man- 
sion, which  I  have  not  seen  since  I  was  a  boy,  and  I  shall 
soon  return  to  begin  the  g.od  work." 

The  rough  set,  unaccustomed  to  pity  or  kindness  from 
a  stranger,  now  saw  both  pity  and  kindness  in  the  strang- 
er's eye,  and  wonderful  to  tell,  many  of  the  women- 
women  who  are  ever  the  first  capable  of  detecting  those 
blessed  impulses  of  the  swelling  heart— saw  those  genuine 
rays  of  pity  shining  on  the  stranger's  face,  and  soon  those 
very  rays  were  reflected  in  the  unbidden  tears  which  fill- 
ed their  eyes.  Other  women  present,  burying  their  faces 
in  their  aprons,  sat  and  sobbed  like  little  children ;  even 
the  stalwart  heroine  who  would  have  struck  down  this 
benefactor,  now  hung  her  head  in  his  presence  like  one 
condemned.  Men  stood  here  and  there  as  if  overcome  by 
a  singular  influence.  Some  quite  listless,  others  with 
tremoiing  nerves  and  clenched  hands— hands  not  clench- 
ed in  anger,  but  as  if  trying  to  resist  some  mysterious 
power  which  was  about  to  assert  itself  in  unmanning 
them,  and  casting  the  very  evil  out  of  their  natures. 

Before  he  went  away,  John  Valiant  walked  about  the 
place  to  see  how  the  \)eople  worked  and  lived.  He  went 
into  two  01  three  of  the  meanest  huts;  he  entered  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


117 


shed,  and  he  was  shocked  to  see  the  condition  of  the  poor 
overworked  children,  and  he  would  not  leave  the  place 
until  he  had  obtained  a  promise  that  the  sickly  children 
should  be  carefully  attended,  and  that  none  of  the  others 
should  be  asked  to  work  until  his  return  to  the  Heath. 
He  distributed  small  sums  among  all  those  who  appeared 
to  be  in  need.  Every  woman  received  something,  and 
every  child  had  a  little  gift.  To  Harry  Tamblin  he  gave 
an  amount  sufiBcient  to  procure  decent  interment  for  the 
dead  girl,  and  necessaries  for  the  wounded  men.  Just  as 
he  was  about  to  drive  away,  weeping  women  caught  his 
hands  and  kissed  them ;  and  the  eyes  of  many  hardened 
men  seemed  to  be  moistened  for  the  first  time ;  and  then 
as  the  carriage  moved  ofl'  a  loud  cheer  was  heard  all  over 
the  plain. 

For  a  few  moments  the  people  stood  and  looked  wist- 
fully after  the  vehicle,  but  before  it  was  a  hundred  yards 
in  advance,  most  of  those  present,  as  if  by  an  involuntary 
movement,  rushed  after  the  carriage  and  followed  like  the 
escort  of  some  distinguished  personage. 

After  they  had  got  beyond  the  limits  ol'  the  Heath,  many 
of  those  who  resided  in  the  parishes  wondered  to  see  such 
a  procession ;  and  many  even  dreaded  a  wholesale  plun- 
dering incursion  of  their  lawless  neighbors.  It  was,  how- 
ever, soon  evident  that  nothing  of  the  kind  was  intended ; 
there  was  not  the  slightest  approach  to  anything  disor- 
derly ;  those  whom  they  had  feared  went  along  in  a  quiet 
and  submissive  manner,  and  whether  the  carriage  went 
slowly,  or  at  a  brisk  rate,  all  kept  together.  As  they 
emerged  from  a  long  avenue  of  huge  oaks,  the  ancient 
Manor  House,  situated  on  an  eminence,  burst  into  full 
view.  There  the  procession  halted  for  a  few  moments  to 
gaze  on  the  scene.  A  slight  shower  had  fallen  a  short  time 
previously,  and  now  a  rainbow  arched  the  eastern  sky, 
leaving  the  Manor  House  and  its  surroundings  a  central 
picture  in  the  iridescent  frame,  while  slanting  sunbeams 
shone  through  the  vacant  apertures  which  once  held  win- 
dows, and  a  thousand  rays  of  the  evening  sun  sparkled  in 


(I 


m 


t 


I  arf 


if 


|»|<H  I 


118 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  rain  drops  which  stood  like  gems  on  the  dark  ivy  that 
draped  the  mouldering  walls. 

At  this  moment  a  number  of  gypsies  who  were  ranged 
on  each  side  of  the  passage  leading  to  the  great  entrance 
of  the  building  sung  out  aloud : 

Oh  welcome  back  to  the  ancient  Hall  I 
The  chief  returns  to  its  ivied  wall. 
Sure  sign  that  the  Manor  now  shall  be 
A  place  for  the  noble  and  the  free. 
The  home  of  the  Valiant  family ; 
Birds  sing  aloud,  flowers  ever  roraain. 
For  the  heir  of  Mayston  comes  again. 

John  Valiant  left  the  carriage  and  approached  the 
building  alone.  He  stood  uncovered  on  the  threshold  of 
the  doorlcss  entrance.  Tears  filled  his  eyes  as  he  thought 
of  the  past,  and  he  was  almost  overcome  by  his  emotions. 
Ere  he  moved  from  the  spot,  those  behind  him  were  start- 
led by  what  appeared  to  be  an  apparition.  The  old  gypsy 
woman,  Zingari,  wearing  a  red  cloak,  and  holding  a  kind 
of  wand,  stepped  slowly  out  from  an  interior  recess,  and 
stood  before  him.  A  little  gypsy , boy  that  she  held  by  the 
hand,  had  a  chaplet  of  oak  leaves  which  she  took  from 
him.  She  muttered  an  invocation  in  a  foreign  tongue, 
which  John  Valiant  appeared  to  understand,  and  then  as 
1^  bent  his  head,  she  placed  the  chaplet  upon  it ;  and 
thus  arrayed,  at  the  sunset  hour,  the  heir  of  Mayston 
entered  the  home  of  his  ancestors. 


il^ 


i 


i 


ml 

at 


CHAPTER    XIII, 

APOSTOLIC  SUCCESSORS. 

nnHE  Reverend  Mr.  Rockett,  rector  of  Betnall,  unlike 
-*-  his  spiritual  brother,  Morton,  of  the  adjoining  parish 
of  Pendell,  did  not  care  for  city  life,  but  chose  to  reside 
in  one  of  his  country  parishes  where  he  could  enjoy  things 
in  his  own  way.  Being  a  fortunate  man  as  well  as  a  good 
churchman,  he  not  only  had  the  spiritual  income  of  three 
other  livings— places  which  he  scarcely  ever  visited— but 
he  was  successful  in  securing  curates  to  suit  his  own  views, 
men  who  were  willing  to  pray  at  a  cheap  rate,  and  to 
preach  against  dissent.  Parson  Rockett,  though  not 
troubled  with  profound  ideas  on  theology  or  politics,  or  in 
fact  on  any  other  subject,  had  one  particular  idea,  which 
though  not  original  he  himself  considered  important,  and 
worthy  of  grave  consideration,  and  this  was,  that  what- 
ever national  misfortune  had  occurred  in  England  since 
the  Reformation  must  all  be  imputed  to  the  spirit  of  dis- 
sent; no  matter  whether  such  misfortune  came  in  the 
shape  of  war  or  riots,  short  crops  or  scarlet  fever.  The 
National  Church  he  looked  upon  as  worthy  of  the  greatest 
reverence,  as  capable  of  being  the  salvation  politically  as 
well  as  spiritually  of  the  entire  kingdom ;  and  he  often 
wondered  how  it  was  possible  for  peasant,  prince  or 
potentate,  to  overlook  its  perfection,  or  to  deny  its  para- 
mount claims.  The  Pope  he  rather  pitied,  as  being  some- 
what spiritually  deluded;  but  the  whole  vile  tribe  of 
dissenters  he  held  in  the  most  utter  contempt ;  and  he 


^\ 


£.^'    1*. 


12' 


l\ 


:'i: 


Ml  '  ■ t" 


120 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


II J 


would  ff'oquently  assert  there  was  not  a  prison,  workhouse, 
or  madhouse,  in  all  England,  but  what  should  be  filled 
with  the  stupid,  ignorant  drivellers  of  hypocritical  Metho- 
dists, sour-visaged  Presbyterians,  and  sloppy  Baptists. 
The  ragged,  ranting,  reverend  itinerants  of  these  and 
other  sects,  he  would  expose  to  labor  on  the  public  high- 
ways ;  he  would  subject  them  to  the  moot  degrading  serv- 
itude, or  he  would  transport  the  whole  contemptible  crew 
(luring  life  to  some  distant  penal  colony.  He  once  tried 
to  argue  with  a  Methodist  clown,  but  having  failed  to  con- 
vince, he  took  off  his  coat  and  fought  with  the  "Swaddler'' 
outside  the  church  door  on  a  Sunday,  in  the  presence  of 
some  of  his  own  congregation.*  Statesmen  like  Gladstone 
or  Bright  who  had  dared  to  advise  the  dis-establishment 
of  the  Church,  or  who  had  ventured  to  tamper  in  the  least 
degree  with  its  temporalities,  he  would  hang  at  once  to 
the  highest  tree ;  and  were  he  to  have  his  own  way,  no 
man  in  Great  Britain  or  Ireland,  should  enter  a  univers- 
ity, or  be  a  legislator,  lawyer,  physician  or  teacher;  or 
hold  any  office  high  or  low  unless  he  was  willing  to  sub- 
scribe to  the  Thirty-nine  Articles,  and  to  solemnly  swear 
that  the  same  were  the  very  essence  of  truth.  Subscribe 
to  1  hese  same  articles,  and  no  matter  what  little  peccadil- 
loes one  might  commit,  no  matter  what  natural  frailties 
men  or  monarchs— monarchs  were  always  more  than  men 
in  his  estimation — were  subject  to  these  thirty-nine  church 
plasters  applied  according  to  rule,  would  heal  every  moral 
defect ;  these  thirty-nine  steps  in  the  theological  ladder 
would  enable  him  who  climbed  on  them  to  reach  the  very 
confines  of  Paradise. 

There  is  no  record  among  the  latest  accepted  scriptural 
revisions  to  prove  that  St.  Paul  ever  kept  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  himself,  or  for  any  of  his  friends,  eiuier  game 
cocks,  fox  hounds,  or  race  horses,  or  that  he  ever  drank 
costly  wines,  or  generally  lived  **  fast."  It  is  however  to 
be  inferred  from  what  he  is  said  to  have  written,  that  at 
one  time  he  took  pleasure  in  fighting  with  beasts  at  Ephe- 

*  See  Note  6. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


121 


bus;  and  he  admits  that  he  had  derived  a  kind  of  prim 
enjoyment  while  going  about  making  havoc  of  the  church, 
entering  into  every  house,  harrassing  and  hunting  certain 
obstinate  men  and  women  who  had  presumed  to  differ 
from  him  on  some  religious  matters ;  and  so  anxious  was 
he  that  all  should  think  just  as  he  thought  on  such  sub- 
jects, that  he  stood  by  and  permitted  a  man  named 
Stephen,  who  had  held  heterodox  opinions,  to  be  stoned 
to  death,  rather  than  allow  unlicensed  free  thought  to 
contaminate  the  simple  faith  of  others.  But  it  is  believed 
that  after  Paul  had  entered  the  ministry,  he  put  away 
these  childish  ideas,  and  grew  more  moderate ;  and  though 
he  still  thought  that  his  own  opinions  were  those  that 
ought  to  prevail— for  he  was  a  true  priest  in  this  respect- 
he  ceased  to  be  an  open  active  persecutor,  and  attended 
more  particularly  to  the  production  of  explanatory  letters 
or  epistles,  which  he  must  have  thought  greatly  needed,  as 
very  few  of  the  wealthy  and  respectable  pew  holders  of 
his  time  were  capable  of  understanding  the  complex  doc- 
trines of  the  new  faith,  until  his  inspired  sentiments  were 
added  to  what  had  already  been  written.  Upon  reflection 
many  now  consider — even  many  of  the  elect — that  if  Paul 
had  a  failing,  were  it  possible  for  him  to  have  had  one,  it 
was  that  after  he  had  become  an  apostle,  much  of  his  old 
persecuting  spirit  had  remained,  much  of  the  Mosaic  ani- 
mus which  had  governed  his  utterances  in  the  synagogue 
governed  his  announcements  in  the  church.  He  had  been 
intolerant  as  a  Jew ;  can  it  be  said  that  he  was  not  so  as  a 
Christian  ?  Some  have  also  thought  that  as  Paul  is  the 
reputed  author  of  more  than  half  of  the  present  reduced 
number  of  books  comprising  the  New  Testament,  he  had 
another  failing — that  of  being  considered  a  chief  scribe. 
Any  way,  whether  he  can  be  justly  charged  with  these 
defects  or  not,  it  is  remarkable  that,  since  his  time,  the 
most  learned  priests  and  prelates  of  the  Church  have 
exhibited  in  their  own  lives  these  two  particular  idiosyn- 
crasies, intolerance  in  disposition,  and  an  itch  for  writing, 
as  if  it  were  actually  necessary  to  have  Paul's  failings, 


IP 


far*, 


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I? 


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*^'ii 

..  ^,1  I. 

1' 

t- 1 


i. 


'<  .w  r'  ."^ 
I   3  j:   ■ 


.1  .:. 


^f.; 


11  i: 


i!  h  : 


122 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


as  well  as  Paul's  virtues,  in  order  to  prove  boyond  all 
manner  of  doubt  the  genuineness  of  thac  apostolic  suc- 
cession upon  which  they  base  their  clerical  authority  and 
assumption. 

The  arrogance  of  the  priests  of  almost  every  form  of 
religion  seems  to  be  inherent;  and  the  terrible  facts  of 
history  can  alone  tell  of  their  persecuting  spirit.  That 
spirit,  it  must  be  admitted,  has  actuated  in  turn  every 
Christian  sect,  great  or  insignificant.  The  most  enlight- 
enened  heathens  and  unbelievers  charge  Christianity 
with  being  essentially  intolerant;  and  they  assert  that 
every  persecutor  for  opinion's  sake,  from  the  early  days 
of  the  Church,  to  the  present  time,  claims  as  his  author- 
ity for  that  most  damning  of  all  sins,  the  very  words  of 
Paul  himself :  "  But  though  we,  or  an  angel  from  heaven, 
preach  any  other  ^jospel  unto  you  than  that  which  we  have 
preached,  let  him  be  accursed.'*  And  then  they  point  out 
how  Paul  is  fr.lly  sustained  by  John,-  who  wrote;  "If 
there  come  any  unto  you,  and  bring  not  this  doctrine, 
receive  him  not  into  your  house,  neither  bid  him  God 
speed.  For  he  that  biddeth  him  God  speed,  is  a  partaker 
of  his  evil  deeds."  With  regard  to  these  threats  from 
Paul  and  John,  and  to  another  text,  which  says :  "He 
that  believeth  not  shall  be  damned,"  the  enemies  of 
Christianity  boldly  assert,  that  nowhere  in  the  Vedas  of 
India— the  most  ancient  of  all  sacred  books— nowhere  in 
the  theological  literature  of  heathen  nations;  nowhere 
among  the  doctrines  of  ancient  pagan  philosophers,  can 
sentiments  so  utterly  bigoted  and  adverse  to  freedom  of 
thought  be  found ;  and  these  opponents  also  assert  that 
the  aphorism,  "believe  or  be  damned,"  can  apply  alone 
to  the  claims  assumed  for  the  faith  of  the  great  Apostle. 

Not  satisfied  with  the  Scriptures  themselves,  ordained 
teachers  seem  to  think  it  their  duty  to  follow  the  example 
of  Paul,  and  become  scribes.  If  sectarian  priests  cannot 
manage  to  change  the  actual  words  of  what  has  already 
been  written,  they  endeavor  to  distort  the  meaning,  to 
Buit  their  own  narrow  views ;  and  to  this  intent  commen- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


123 


tary  after  commentary  is  published.  The  number  of  ex- 
pository volumes  that  have  been  showered  on  bewildered 
believers  since  the  days  of  the  Apostles,  is  overwhelming ; 
and  contending  scribes  are  still  at  work,  their  excited 
efforts  too  often  producing  wild  confusion,  or  the  open 
hostility  of  an  intelligent  class  to  all  Scriptural  inspira- 
tion. 

The  Rector  of  Betnall,  though  rather  intolerant  in  dis- 
position, had  not,  however,  the  other  apostolic  voucher — 
he  was  not  a  scribe.  He  had  never  written  a  commen- 
tary, nor  had  he  even  attempted  the  most  feeble  annota- 
tion on  a  disputed  passage.  He  had  often  told  friends, 
who  had  complained  of  his  slackness,  that  ho  did  not 
think  he  had  ever  written  over  a  score  of  letters  in  all  his 
life;  and  no  one  would,  therefore,  imagine  that  he  could 
spend  a  week,  or  even  a  day,  in  the  composition  of  a 
sermon,  when  he  could  order  and  obtain  a  ready  supply  of 
the  orthodox  stamp  to  his  taste,  for  less  than  half  a  crown 
apiece,  or  about  a  guinea  for  a  baker's  dozen—even  some- 
times for  half  that  price.  No,  indeed,  Parson  Rockett 
never  bothered  himself  with  divinity  to  that  extent;  he 
considered  that  he  did  well  if  he  read,  perhaps,  once  a 
month,  a  vapid  eulogy  of  the  Church  to  the  few  that 
might  be  in  attendance ;  and  as  long  as  his  curates  saw  to 
the  collection  of  church  rates,  and  succeeded  in  prevent- 
ing any  of  the  flock  from  wandering  toward  dissent,  the 
good  man's  conscience  was  easy,  and  he  spent  the  other 
Sundays  in  innocent  recreation  with  a  few  of  his  particu- 
lar friends. 

It  will,  no  doubt,  be  admitted  that  some  ministers, 
i  hough  fortunate  in  having  a  sacred  call,  may  neverthe- 
less become  frivolous  and  degenerate,  and  after  all,  sub- 
ject to  particular  human  frailties.  It  has  been  said,  and 
perhaps  with  some  degree  of  trui  !i.  i  hat  lilthy  lucre,  or  a 
love  of  money,  has  even  exceeded  the  sensuality  w^hich 
has  been  charged  against  the  clergy.  Popes,  Cardinals, 
Bishops  and  Priests,  distinguished  clerical  rulers  of  all 
sects,  in  times  past,  as  well  as  at  present,  have  not  only 


ll 

^  1 

m 


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Hi 


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124 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ili 


it: 


been  eager  for  power  and  authority,  but  greedy  for  the 
means  of  obtaining  it ;  and  the  wealth  secured— often  by 
reprehensible  devices— for  churches,  religious  societies, 
and  pious  corporations,  is  in  startling  contrast  with  the 
stinted  funds  available  for  the  support  of  schools,  asy- 
lums, hospitals  and  other  charitable  institutions.  Dissent 
now  stalks  abroad  in  fashionable  costume.  Even  the  once 
world  despising  Methodist  has  flung  aside  his  low-crowned 
hat,  and  his  high-collared  coat  to  dress  a  la  mode.  His 
once  wild  piety  is  now  curbed  under  the  shadow  of  a 
steeple,  and  his  preacher— now  a  Eev.  Doctor — shouts  no 
frantic  prayer,  out  utters  his  classic  invocation  in  a  "  met- 
ropolitan church." 

Parson  Rockett,  a  tall,  stout,  well-fed  looking  person, 
being  a  rector,  was  of  course  wealthy ;  and  like  a  sensible 
divine,  he  was  determined  to  enjoy  his  hard-earned  money. 
Few,  indeed,  can  extract  more  sweets  from  human  life 
than  a  popular  priest.  The  rector  was  a  magistrate,  and 
exercised  his  authority  with  as  little  compunction  over  a 
Methodist  or  a  Baptist,  as  he  did  upon  a  poacher  or  a 
pauper.  He  had  a  large,  comfortable  house,  well,  if  not 
elegantly  furnished.  His  cellar  was  stored  with  the  choic- 
est wines,  and  the  strongest  liquors,  which  his  temperance 
principles  did  not  altogether  forbid  him  touching.  He  did 
not  believe  in  temperance  bosh.  Did  not  Paul  say  to 
Timothy:  "Drink  no  longer  water,  but  use  a  litth; 
wine."  *    He  had  servants  and  hand  maidens — to  some  of 


*The  temporance  principles  of  one  of  the  Bishops  of  the  Siato 
Church  may  be  known  from  the  following  remarks  of  a  newsiiapor 
published  in  December,  1873: 

"  The  Bishop  of  Lincoln,  England,  has  actually  preached  a  sermoh 
in  his  cathedral  against  the  temperance  pledge.  He  denounced  it  as 
unscriptural.  He  said  that  it '  undermined  tlie  Godhead  of  Christ  '— 
which,  at  least,  is  rather  a  curious  figure.  '  Then  suppose,'  said  the 
Bishop,  'that  Timothy  had  been  a  pledged  man  when  advised  by  St. 
Paul  to  ues  a  little  wine  for  his  stomach's  sake— would  he  not  haM^ 
injured  his  health  and  inflicted  a  damage  on  the  cause  of  trutii  by 
refusing  to  follow  the  Apostolic  advice?"  Moreover,  according  to 
the  Bishop,  the  pledge  '  leads  to  lying.'  and  '  it  is  a  deadly  sin  for 
Christians  to  sign  it'  The  Bishop's  sermon,  naturally  enough,  was 
Quoted  with  the  warmest  approbation  at  the  licensed  viotualer's  din- 
ner in  the  Crystal  Palace." 


THK   HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


12; 


the  latter,  it  had  been  rumored,  he  was  much  attached  ; 
he  had  horses  and  hounds  which  had  been  trained  to  take 
a  short  cut  after  a  fox  across  the  fields  or  through  the 
crops  of  a  dissenter,  in  preference  to  a  dash  through  those 
of  a  sound  Churchman ;  he  had  pigeons  and  poultry  which 
he  fattened  experimentally;  capons  and  cauliflowers, 
which  he  devoured  rather  voraciously ;  and  when  he  felt 
wearied  in  the  study  of  whist  or  of  Whateley,  he  found 
ready  recuperation  in  a  cock  fight.  This  was,  perhaps, 
one  of  his  greatest  enjoyments,  and  what  he  called  "  glori- 
ous fun ;"  and  there  was  not  a  rector  within  fifty  miles  who 
could  exhibit  more  magnificent  game  cocks,  or  bet  with 
more  successful  results  upon  his  feathered  favorites.  As 
the  Parson  was  bound  to  be  famous,  at  least  in  this  way, 
he  spared  neither  pains  nor  hard  cash  to  get  the  best 
birds ;  and  those  of  his  rustic  parishioners,  who  were  ready 
to  boast  of  his  enterprise  in  this  respect,  would  assert  that 
he  spent  *'  more'u  a  hoondred  poonds  a  year  " — much 
more  than  the  salary  he  paid  any  of  his  curates—"  t'  gat 
th'  best  gam  bloode  that  th'  coontry  could  affoord." 

This  boast  was  by  no  means  an  exaggeration,  for  the 
parson's  mania  in  this  direction  was  well  known  to  his 
journeymen  preachers,  every  one  of  whom  was  authorize<I 
to  secure,  by  purchase,  or  otherwise,  the  best  game  cocks 
to  be  found  in  their  respective  parishes.  So  delighted  was 
the  Eev.  J.  Eockett,  with  the  diversion  which  a  cock  fight 
afforded,  that  often,  even  privately,  on  Sunday  itself, 
when  his  curates  were  authoritatively  dispensing  the 
word,  and  perhaps  when  the  British  savages  on  the  Heath 
might  be  mauling  one  another,  the  parson  and  a  few 
favored  friends  could  be  found  in  the  large  enclosed  yar<  I 
at  the  back  of  his  stables— a  yard  with  great,  high  walls- 
watching  with  delight  the  desperate  struggles  between  two 
birds,  and  staking  heavy  sums  on  the  result. 

The  Rector  of  Betnall  was  well  known  to  have  one 
apostolic  qualification,  if  even  his  defamers  would  admit 
of  no  other— he  was  given  to  hos|)itality.  As  his  table 
WHS  always  well  supplied,  he  liked  to  receive  stylish  stran- 


,j 

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12C 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  UE\TH. 


gers  and  fashionable  sinners.  No  doubt,  by  such  a  course 
he  perhaps  thought  he  might  entertain  "angels  una- 
wares ;  "  but  as  these  are  admitted  by  proper  judges  to  be 
of  different  races,  it  might  be  difficult  to  designate  tho 
special  region  to  which  the  rector's  angels  sometimes 
properly  belonged.  However,  on  a  particular  day,  we  find 
him  showing  courtesy  to  a  number  of  peculiar  guests— a 
few  of  the  very  elect,  the  ordained  of  his  own  church, 
with  a  bishop  at  their  head.  These  might  be  truly  set 
down  as  saints  and  ministers  of  grace,  and  the  Christian 
ladies  who  flocked  abotit  them  wore  no  doubt  angels — and 
bright  ones,  too,  as  the  great  mp«jority  of  ladies  of  course 
always  are ;  and  never  since  the  happy  day  that  the  par- 
son conscientiously  took  and  subscribed  his  clerical  vows, 
had  he  reason  to  feel  more  elated. 

The  occasion  which  had  called  forth  the  special  hospi- 
tality, was  the  triennial  visit  of  the  Lord  Bishop  of  Stork- 
chester.  Great  exertions  had  been  made  to  get  a  large 
number  of  ignorant  rustics  prepared  for  confirmation ; 
and  special  efforts  had  been  put  forth  to  get  up  a  dinner 
fit  for  the  Episcopal  stomach,  for  his  lordship's  chap- 
lains, and  for  the  clergy  and  distinguished  company  that 
were  in  attendance.  All  Betnall  had,  of  course,  turned 
out  to  see  the  Episcopal  carriage,  the  retinue,  and  the 
saintly  person  himself.  Early  in  the  forenoon  a  splendid 
coach,  drawn  by  four  glossy  bays,  drew  up  before  the  Kec- 
tory.  How  the  country  folks  stared  at  the  gold-mounted 
harness,  and  at  the  postillion,  the  coachman,  and  the  foot- 
man, in  blue  and  scarlet  velvet  liveries !  The  bishop— a 
rubicund  little  man,  well  preserved,  was  glad  to  see  the 
rector — his  reverend  brother  in  the  Lord.  They  had 
known  each  other  in  earlier  days,  and  both  bishop  and 
rector  knew  something  also  of  the  particular  thorn  that 
had  once  troubled  the  flesh  of  the  other  before  o  "dinatiou 
had  in  a  manner  subdued  old  propensities  and  put  Satan 
to  his  wit's  end.  His  lordship  and  the  rector  had  also, 
like  many  others,  obtained  preferment  in  the  Church 
more  through  the  influence  of  certain  distinguished  no- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


127 


blemen  than  in  consequence  of  theological  profundity  or 
of  marked  clerical  demotion. 

As  soon  as  the  bishop  had  entered  the  house,  and  got 
fairly  out  of  sight  of  the  gaping  crowd,  he  gave  a  know- 
ing wink  at  the  rector,  entered  a  private  room,  and  when 
they  were  closeted  together,  his  lordship  hurriedly  swul- 
lowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  then  laughing  aloud,  pulled  a 
small  note  from  his  pocket : 

'*  Ah,  Jack,  Jack,  what  an  epistle  to  send  to  your  bishop  1 
Pon  my  soul  and  honor,  if  I  were  to  publish  it  in  the  Rec- 
ord, the  Archbishop  would,  no  doubt,  laugh  himself  into 
fits,  and  the  whole  race  of  dissenters  from  Dan  to  Beer- 
sheba,  would,  of  course,  rejoice  and  be  exceedingly  glad 
at  the  expose.  O,  Jack !  what  an  apostle  you  are,  to  be 
sure.    What  a  custos  morum  among  the  clergy!  " 

"  Why,  Tom— I  beg  your  lordship's  pardon  for  the  fa- 
miliarity—but let  me  see  it,  can't  you?  Tom,  what  the 
dev— I  beg  your  pardon  again— but  what  is  it,  what  is  it  ?" 

"Ah!  you  holy  rogue,  that  apostolic  hands  were  ever 
laid  upon  your  noble  skull!— read  that.  Jack,  read  that." 

The  bishop  handed  the  rector  the  few  lines  he  had 
received  a  day  or  two  previously  by  post  from  Betnall.  It 
seems  that  the  rector  had  written  a  short  note  to  the 
bishop,  informing  him  that  everything  was  ready  for  the 
prelatical  reception ;  he  had  also,  at  the  same  time,  written 
a  note  to  one  of  his  curates.  Both  of  these  billets  lay  on 
his  desk,  and,  in  his  usual  hurry,  the  note  intended  for  the 
curate  had  been  directed  to  the  bishop,  and  it  read  as 
follows : 

"  Deab  Folson:  You  must  get  that  cock  by  hook  or  by  crook. 
Give  old  Marshall  his  price,  If  you  can  do  no  better.  I'll  have  it  out 
of  him  In  some  other  way.  One  of  those  infernal  scoundrels  from 
the  JEeath  stole  the  splendid  bird  that  Hovey  sent  me,  and  I  must 
have  another  as  good.  The  bishop  will  be  here  by  Tuesday ;  send  as 
many  for  confirmation  as  you  can.  Should  any  of  the  old  ones  for- 
get whether  they  had  ever  received  the  rite,  no  matter,  let  them  come 
on— we  want  a  good  turn  out— a  second  operation  will  do  them  no 
harm.    Nail  the  cock  without  fail.    Yours,  John  Rockett. 

The  parson  felt  a  little  chagrined  at  his  mistake,  but  his 


Mm 


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THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

lordship,  who  was  in  the  best  of  humor,  did  not  keep  him 
a  moment  in  suspense ;  he  drank  oflf  another  glass  of  the 
excellent  sherry,  and  clapping  the  rector  familL  rly  on  the 
shoulder,  said: 

"Now,  Jack,  no  nonsense  between  us.  On  my  word,  if 
I  had  a  good  chance,  I'd  really  like  to  see  some  of  this 
rare  sport  again— quite  harmless  in  its  way.  You've  got 
the  birds,  I  suppose.  Can't  you  let  even  Vanscourt  have 
a  look  at  them  before  service ;  can't  you,  Jack  ?  He'd  be 
highly  pleased." 

There  was  no  mistake  as  to  the  bishop's  eagerness  for 
innocent  sport,  if  a  suitable  chance  offered,  but  his  lord- 
ship desired  to  be  circumspect ;  his  chaplain,  Mr.  Vans- 
court,  might  go,  but  he  himself  could  not. 

The  rector  quickly  turned  round,  delighted  at  the  hint, 
and  in  high  glee  replied : 

**  O,  Tom,  you're  not  a  bit  changed— not  a  bit— the  same 
good  fellow  as  ever.*' 

This  hasty  and  rather  familiar  address  incautiously 
blurted  out,  again  bothered  the  rector ;  but  the  bishop  did 
not  seem  to  notice  it.  His  lordship,  though  anxious  to  see 
the  birds,  and  perhaps  willing  to  have  them  tested  in  the 
pit,  was  yet  reluctant  to  appear  as  a  patron  of  such  sport, 
particularly  when  he  perhaps  might  be  observed  by  some 
censorious  Dissenter  who  would  only  be  too  ready  to  cast 
a  slur  on  the  Church.  No,  he  would  merely  take  a  look 
at  the  game  birds,  and  should  they  happen  to  fight,  he 
must  retire.  The  rector  in  his  eager  desire  to  amuse  the 
bishop,  really  paid  but  little  heed  to  his  lordship's  objec- 
tions—it was  but  innocent  pastime ;  he  went  at  once  to  get 
things  ready,  and  while  Mr.  Vanscourt,  the  bishop's  chap- 
lain, and  two  or  three  other  divines  happened,  as  it  were, 
to  stroll  out  into  the  yard  where  the  cocks  were  being 
spurred  for  the  occasion,  the  bishop  and  one  or  two  of  hig 
clerical  friends  remained  in  the  house,  and  watched  the 
proceedings  from  a  window. 

The  fight  soon  commenced ;  the  birds  were  well  match- 
ed and  the  contest  was  likely  to  be  close.    The  Bishop  like 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


129 


others  got  somewhat  excited ;  neither  his  religion  nor  his 
elevation  to  Episcopal  dignity,  had  as  yet  altogether 
•'whipped  the  offending  Adam  out  of  him,"  and  he  look- 
ed on  from  the  window,  greatly  interested.  His  chaplain 
ventured  a  little  bet  with  one  of  the  clergymen  on  a  par- 
ticular bird ;  the  bet  was  of  course  taken,  and  the  rector 
even  offered  to  back  the  chaplain's  wager  and  give  heavy 
odds.  Other  persons  staked  sumi;  on  the  result,  and  by 
and  Dy  a  few  more  of  the  clerical  gentlemen  who  had  re- 
mained in  the  house,  having  an  inkling  of  what  was  going 
on  in  the  back  yard,  stole  quietly  out  to  the  arena;  host- 
lers and  men  servants  followed,  and  in  spite  of  every  pre- 
caution little  ragged  boys  and  laborers  climbed  high 
enough  on  some  of  the  poplar  trees  that  stood  in  a  row 
outside  the  wall,  to  look  down  into  the  yard  and  see  v/hat 
was  going  on ;  it  was  to  them  as  well  as  to  many  of  the 
clergy  a  great  attraction. 

By  this  time  the  chaplain  had  become  so  animated  that 
he  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  (Clerical  character.  He 
was  seen  standing  close  to  the  springing,  fluttering  birds, 
giving  an  exclamation  of  delight  as  his  favorite  made  a 
successful  dash ;  now  again,  with  hands  on  knees,  he 
would  stoop  over  intent  on  watching  the  battle.  In  the 
temporary  confusion  that  took  place  his  clerical  hat— of 
peculiar  shape— had  been  somehow  knocked  aside  jauntily 
on  his  head ;  his  spectacles  hung  awry  across  his  nose,  he 
liad  become,  as  it  were,  disarranged ;  and  altogether  the 
tout  ensemble  of  his  reverence  was  not  then  such  as  was 
strictly  becoming  the  conventional  gravity  of  a  prelatical 
chaplain.  Parson  Rockett  fussed  about  bareheaded,  so 
absorbed  with  the  struggle  that  he  apparently  forgot  tlie 
presence  of  the  bishop  and  the  clergy.  The  other  rever- 
end gentlemen,  with  one  or  two  exceptions,  seemed  to  be 
j^reatly  pleased  with  the  sport,  probably  because  the 
bishop  appeared  to  be  »o  delighted  with  it ;  and  almost  all 
in  the  yard  were  evidently  so  interested  in  the  fight  be- 
tween two  game  cocks,  that  the  occasion  which  had  brought 
mostof  themtogt^theratBetnall  had  been  nearly  forgotten. 


Bmm 


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130 


THE  HEATHENB  OF  THE  HEATH. 


All  this  time  there  were  people  waiting  in  the  crowded 
church  who  no  doubt  were  under  the  impression  that  the 
delay  in  the  commencement  of  the  service  was  caused  by 
his  lordship's  attendance  to  his  private  devotions,  prepara- 
tory to  the  administratiou  of  the  solemn  rite  which  was 
that  day  to  confirm  so  many  in  tlie  faith. 

If,  however,  his  lordsliip  of  Storkchester  and  certain  of 
his  clergy  derived  any  enjoyment  from  witnessing  a  forced 
liglit  between  the  wretched  birds,  those  persons  who  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  in  the  church  had  ample  compensa- 
t  ion  for  having  been  kept  waiting.  Miss  Esther  Meade  had 
promised  to  come  from  Pendell  to  preside  at  the  organ, 
and  never  did  the  old  walls  of  Betnall  parish  church  re- 
sound to  richer  strains.  There  she  sat  like  a  divinity  sur- 
rounded by  silent  worshipers,  and  every  soft  note  that  she 
brought  forth  seemed  to  be  wafted  awa>  at  once  on  a 
mission  to  the  pearly  gates.  Was  she,  in  the  absence  of 
the  ordained,  making  supplication  like  a  ministering  angel 
for  the  people  ?  If  so,  the  strains  in  which  she  prayed 
made  every  ear  attentive,  every  eye  dim,  and  every  heart 
swell  with  emotion.  Her  sermon  was  tenderly  awakening, 
her  precepts  were  gentle,  and  her  petition  was  for  peace. 
There  she  was  proving  her  apostolic  power  before  all,  and 
working  miracles  for  unbelievers,  infusing  life  into  dead 
souls,  and  melting  sordid,  icy  hearts  by  her  grand  skill  in 
the  sublime  mystery  of  music.  What  ordination  conl<i 
])ostow  such  gifts  ?  and  what  virtue  could  emenate  from 
tawdry  mitres  or  crosiers,  from  formal  rituals,  or  ecclesi 
asti(;al  display,  equal  to  that  which  she  drew  forth  from 
the  chastity  of  soft,  sweet  sounds  ? 

There  was  a  hush  in  the  church  when  she  raised  her 
lingers  from  her  last  prayer;  and  then  silence  was  the 
worship  offered  to  the  Great  Supreme.  But  soon  a  hund- 
red eyes  were  lifted  to  where  she  sat;  one  person,  more 
than  all  others,  seemed  to  be  lost  in  admiration  ;  this  wa?^ 
the  Kev.  Mr.  Morton,  rector  of  Pendell ;  he  was  still  most 
attentive  to  Miss  Meade,  and  would  not  Iof-j  sight  of  her 
for  the  society  of  a  bishop.    He  stood  robed  inside  the 


m:'- 


\:> 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


181 


altar  railinpr,  and  intently  gazing  on  the  fair  preacher  in 
the  organ  gallery.  The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  his  curate,  simi- 
larly attired,  sat  submissively  behind  him,  speculating 
upon  the  nature  of  spiritual  gifts,  and  doubting  whether 
the  most  pretentious  priest  could  excel  his  daughter's 
simple  power  over  human  hearts.  A  great  number  of 
smartly  dressed  young  people  awaiting  confirmation 
seemed  to  have  grown  devoutly  thoughtful  for  the  first 
time ;  and  a  venerable  couple  who  were  seated  in  a  retired 
corner  looked  as  if  desirous  of  leaving  "  this  vale  of  tears" 
for  the  heaven  that  was  then  present  to  their  imagination. 
It  was  old  Stephen  Gray  and  Sarah  Afton  who  sat  side  by 
side.  Old  Sarah  with  pensive  aspect  was  perhaps  thinking 
of  the  dreary  past,  while  Stephen,  witii  suffused  eyes,  seem- 
ed full  of  hope.  He  looked  tenderly  at  her  who  was  near 
him,  and  then  gratefully  up  at  his  other  angel,  Esther 
Meade,  and  then  he  wondered  in  his  simplicity  how  she 
came  to  be  able  to  make  people  weep ;  he  wondered  where 
music  had  its  birth ;  and  then  again  he  wondered  whether 
when  the  troubles  of  this  life  were  all  over,  Sarah  and  he 
should  be  welcomed  by  strains  so  heavenly  when  they 
greeted  each  other  on  their  happy  arrival  in  the  beautiful 
land  of  the  blest. 


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9 

CHAPTER    XIV. 


CLERICAL  THAUMATDRGY. 


rilHOSE  experienced  in  religious  matters  assert  that  tlie 
-^  change  from  nature  to  grace  is  one  of  the  most  re- 
markable. Old  things  are  said  to  have  passed  away,  and 
all  things  to  have  become  new.  That  is  to  say,  the  gross 
desires  which  a  man  is  said  to  have  as  a  worldling  are 
relinquished  for  the  more  elevated  and  spiritual  enjoy- 
ments which  a  lively  faith  is  presumed  to  bestow.  It 
would  be  auspicious  indeed  were  this  change  as  lasting  as 
it  is  pronounced  to  be  beneficial ;  but  unhappily  it  is  too 
evanescent.  Men  in  all  ages  have  become  religious  enthu- 
siasts for  a  time,  and  persons  of  all  creeds  who  have  be- 
come disgusted  with  the  things  of  time  and  sense— disap- 
pointed with  expectation — have  generally,  after  longer  or 
shorter  periods  of  religious  devotion,  returned  to  the  world 
and  to  its  so-called  pomps  and  vanities,  to  its  pleasures  or 
its  engrossing  cares. 

Strange  as  it  may  seem  no  class  of  men  have  been  more 
frail,  and  more  erring  in  religious  consistency,  than  priests 
themselves.  Though  they  undoubtedly  regard  heaven  as 
the  realization  of  their  fondest  hopes,  yet  the  honors  and 
emoluments  of  earth  have  been  sufficiently  attractive  to 
eclipse,  even  for  a  time,  the  glories  of  the  celestial  home ; 
leaving  them  like  ordinary  beings,  to  wander  wistfully 
through  the  fading  beauty  and  splendor  of  this  sinful 
planet;  and  while  preaching  to  others  they  themselves 
may  too  often  become  as  castaways. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


133 


Among  the  Brahmins,  where  are  said  to  be  found  the 
most  ancient  of  all  clergy,  a  man  is  born  to  the  priestly 
order,  and  is  considered,  as  it  were,  sacred  by  inheritance, 
and  the  Jews,  like  other  nations,  copying  from  India  and 
from  Egypt,  had  their  Aaronic  priesthood.  Among  Chris- 
tians, however,  there  is  no  such  royal  road  to  the  favored 
position,  and  one  must  prepare  for  the  pulpit  as  he  would 
prepare,  in  many  respects,  for  any  other  profession ;  but 
somehow  candidates  for  the  altar  are  always  ready  to  give 
a  guarantee  for  the  sincerity  of  their  intentions  by  assert- 
ing that  they  have  an  irresistable  desire  to  enter  the  min- 
istry— not  of  course  for  pecuniary  gain— but  to  sound  the 
glad  tidings ;  and  to  establish  the  purity  of  their  motives 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  they  are  prepared  to  solemnly 
swear  or  declare  before  ordination,  that  they  are  called  by 
the  Holy  Spirit  to  go  like  apostles  into  the  highways  and 
byways  to  preach  the  gospel  to  perishing  sinners,  and  to 
try  and  induce  men  every  where  to  repent  and  to  be  born 
again. 

This  idea  of  a  "regeneration"— a  peculiar  scriptural 
term — had  its  origin  in  the  metempsychosis  of  Paganism, 
and  as  the  Hindoo  doctrine  of  the  transmigration  of  souls 
is,  perhaps,  among  the  most  ancient  of  all  religious  con- 
ceptions, this  idea  has  been  adopted  by  the  writers  of  the 
gospels,  in  order  to  illustrate  the  apostolic  meaning  of  the 
new  birth  from  original  sin  to  righteousness;  and  every 
Christian  preacher,  from  the  lordly  Archbishop  down  to 
the  most  insignificant  dissenter,  is  presumed  to  be  a  "new 
creature,"  is  expected  to  have  been  "  born  again,"  and  to 
be  in  actual  possession  of  this  great  credential  before  he 
undertakes  to  venture  out  into  the  dark  places  of  the  earth 
to  add  *•  seals  to  his  ministry." 

Well,  if  we  find  ordained  heads,  after  asseverations  so 
solemn,  recklessly  flinging  aside  the  assumed  garb  of 
sanctity  and  giving  evidence  of  the  grossest  sensual  desires ; 
if  we  find  a  majority  of  the  priests  of  almost  every  sect 
anxious  to  heap  up  wealth,  and  thinking  too  lightly  of  the 
[)revailing  poverty  among  thousands  of  their  fellow  crea- 


1  fj    • 


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134 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


tures;  if  we  find  these  clerical  backsliders,  forgetful  of 
their  own  short  coinings,  still  calling  on  others  to  repent, 
what  description  of  confidence  can  be  placed  in  their  sincer- 
ity? If  other  sinners,  after  ineffectual  struggles  to  get- 
rid  of  secular  entanglements,  resign  themselves  with  ap- 
parent indifference  to  the  gloomy  future  that  may  await 
them,  what  should  be  the  hopeless  condition  of  wanton 
reverends  and  unfaithful  stewards?  Pshaw!  What  care 
they?  Look  at  their  manner  of  life;  the  luxuries  most 
of  them  enjoy ;  they  revel  in  sweets,  while  many  a  starv- 
ing member  of  the  flock  is  languishing  ard  despondent. 
What  care  most  of  these  consecrated  gourmonds  for  daily 
or  hourly  insinuations  against  them?  What  care  they 
for  charges  against  character  and  conduct  too  often  only 
timidly  urged?  They  boldly  proclaim  them  calumnies! 
They  denounce  the  motives  of  a  doubting  Thomas,  and 
rise  to  insulted  innocence,  well  knowing  that  so  long  as 
they  have  the  confiding  and  devoted  Annas,  and  Marthas, 
and  Marys  of  the  Church  to  advocate  their  cause,  and  to 
resent  unholy  imputations,  submission  must  eventually 
follow.  These  are  the  living  refutations  priests  bring  for- 
ward; these  are  the  telling  facts  which  win  back  confi- 
dence, such  are  the  appeals  which  the  most  eloquent  accu- 
ser cannot  withstand.  No  wonder  that  clerical  corruption 
has  so  often  to  be  overlooked,  for,  as  it  is,  the  secret  of 
priestly  power  may  nr  doubt  be  attributed  in  many  cases 
to  female  influence ;  and  experience  has  proved,  time  after 
time,  that  the  wily  pastor  may  too  often  derive  his  greatest' 
strength  and  assurance  from  the  weakness  ot  credulous, 
affectionate,  unsuspecting  woman. 

There  are  said  to  be  angels  in  heaven  who  surround  the 
cplesLial  throne,  and  whose  hosannas  to  the  Great  Supreme 
ascend  for  ever  and  ever.  We  know  that  there  are  angels 
on  the  earth  who  flutter  around  every  temple,  who  fling 
sunshine  into  every  place  of  worship,  and  who  illuminate 
every  altar;  they  sing  the  praises  of  their  priest  and 
prophet,  and  the  grandest  cathedral  would  be  gloomy 
without  their  presence.    These  are  the  radiant  visitants 


m 


»; 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


135 


(hat  win  men  to  devotion  ;  these  are  the  glowing  texts  that 
touch  the  heart;  these  are  the  evangelists  that  have  given 
sjiints  to  every  age ;  and  the  sternest  precepts  delivered  in 
I  lie  most  formal  tone  of  authority,  would  find  many  unbe- 
lieving ears,  were  it  not  that  the  harshest  maxims  are 
moulded  into  music,  and  rendered  into  melody,  and  echo- 
ed back  to  men's  souls,  by  these  beautiful  rugels  of  the 
temple. 

The  aspect  of  the  bishop  and  the  clergy,  as  they  enter- 
ed the  church,  was  the  very  picture  of- humble  piety. 
What  a  sudden  change  was  here !  The  display  of  meek 
ness  was  admirable.  His  Ri.c'ht  Keveronce,  in  lawn 
sleeves,  with  bent  head,  and  gloved  hands  crossed  on  his 
breast,  preceded  by  his  verger,  v/ith  silver  wand,  and  fol- 
lowed by  about  a  dozen  of  the  clergy  in  robes,  marched 
slowly  up  the  aisle,  while  the  organ  poured  foitli  a  strain 
that  was,  at  intervals,  sublime  beyond  conception.  Lo! 
what  divinity  doth  hedge  in  these  apostolic  ones.  See 
the  veneration  they  draw  out  on  jjeople's  faces !  Wonder- 
ful conjuration !  The  nobles  and  the  gentry  present  look 
with  pride  upon  these  distinguished  ambassadors  of  the 
Church,  and  upon  the  Church  itself  as  being  perhaps  the 
most  celebrated  prop  of  Britain's  national  greatness. 
What  confident,  enthusiastic  credulity !  Are  these  com- 
mon, ignorant  gazers— the  plebs  I'ustica  et  urbana— who 
stand  behind,  impressed  with  the  benefit  of  a  State  relig- 
ion, or  of  any  other  religion ;  do  they  share  this  same 
enthusiasm  ?  Can  there  possibly  be  a  doubt  of  the  ten- 
dency of  their  crude  ideas  relative  to  ecclesiasticism  ?  Are 
they  growing  irreverantv  Time  may  perhaps  soon  tell. 
Quaint  revolutionary  notions  often  generate  and  mature 
ill  the  brain  of  a  ploughman,  that  would  be  quickly  stunt- 
ed and  withered  under  the  mitre  of  the  bishop.  This  may 
be  an  age  of  retrogression,  for  somehow  the  inspired  con- 
ceptions of  the  Church  are  becoming  stale  and  obsolete. 
Strange!  what  can  be  the  reason?  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
Thought  is  a,t  the  root  of  the  matter,  and  that  the  tower- 
ing cedars  of  our  orthodox  Lebanon,  after  centuries  of 


II 

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136 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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costly  experimental  culture,  are  getting  sapless  and  with- 
ered. The  Church  admits  that  the  age  of  mJracles  is  past ; 
it  has  no  more  to  offer,  and  the  moonlight  visions  of  mod- 
ern saints  fade  away  in  the  day  dawn.  Delusion  is  dearl  to 
many ;  and  priests  who  have  been  "  overshadowing  "truth 
in  their  secret  places,  begin  to  discover  that  skepticism  has 
its  birthplace  upon  the  very  steps  of  the  altar. 

His  lordship  of  Storkchester,  when  seated  upon  his 
Episcopal  throne,  might  be  deemed  a  study  for  a  dram- 
atist ;  he  tried  to  look  like  a  man  who  had  not  a  shilling 
beyond  what  would  pay  for  his  breakfast ;  and  his  rever- 
end escort,  like  fishermen  who  had  been  toiling  out  all 
night,  and  had  caught  nothing.  Amiable  deceivers !  Yet 
who,  at  this  solemn  moment,  could  tbirk  that  this  same 
humble  bishop  had  an  income,  dori\ea  solely  from  his 
spiritual  legerdemain,  of  over  £10,000  a  year— actually 
more  than  the  united  endowments  of  all  the  public  chari- 
ties and  hospitals  in  the  parish  ?  Who  could  believe  that 
this  one  man  could  earn  more  by  his  Episcopal  trade  in 
one  day,  than  many  a  poor,  honest  toiler  could  earn  by 
hard  work  during  a  whole  year  ?  Who  could  fancy  that 
this  bishop,  and  these  wealthy  rectors  were,  by  a  pious 
figure  of  speech,  called  "  despised  followers  of  the  cross,  1 
Despised  indeed  ?  what  a  farce !  and  that  these  poor  sub- 
missive curates,  who  had  the  same  ordination  as  the 
most  affluent  clergy,  are  obliged  to  preach  ;jd  appear 
respectable  on  a  paltry  allowance,  scarcely  b  y^  nd  the 
ordinary  earnings  of  a  traveling  tinker,  Wha .  a  foun- 
tain of  purity  and  justice  is  this  State  Church!  What 
gushing  pity  and  charity  swell  out  the  lordly  bosoms  of 
its  clerical  magnates !  Alas !  it  seems  that  ecclesiastical 
elevation  has  not  always  a  tendency  to  expand  the  kind- 
liest impulses  of  our  nature.  Bishops  are  generally  as 
sordid  as  common  men ;  they  mostly  keep  all  they  get. 
The  poor  are  seldom  benefitted  by  the  death  of  a  wealthy 
divine.  Prelatical  bequests  are  mostly  for  relatives ;  as  if 
gold  gained  by  the  gospel  should  not  be  distributed  out- 
side of  the  Aarouic  household. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


137 


After  the  ceremony  of  confirmation  was  over,  the  bishop 
delivered  a  very  feeling  charge  to  those  upon  whom  he 
had  just  laid  his  Episcopal  hands,  and  all  seemed  to  be 
wonderfully  edified,  as  if  some  prelatical  or  spiritual  virtue 
had  been  imparted  by  the  mere  touch  of  a  true  successor 
of  the  Apostles.  Imagination  has  wrought  many  a  mir- 
acle ;  it  may  have  still  as  much  to  do  in  curing  a  moral 
evil  by  the  touch  of  a  bishop,  as  it  formerly  had  in  cuving 
a  physical  evil  by  the  touch  of  a  king.  Any  way,  to  all 
appearance,  several  persons  looked  more  meet  for  heaven 
since  the  bishop  had  pronounced  his  cabalistic  words,  than 
they  were  before  the  service  had  commenced ;  and  then, 
after  his  lordship  had  bestowed  his  solemn  benediction 
upon  the  retiring  congregation,  the  greater  number  of  those 
who  had  renewed  their  Christian  vows,  hurried  off  to  a 
neighboring  barn  to  feast,  and  to  dance,  and  to  have  a 
merry  time  during  the  remainder  of  the  day  *— the  rector 
and  some  of  the  gentry  having  given  an  amount  sufficient 
to  furnish  the  items  requisite  and  proper  for  this  peculiar 
festival. 

Shortly  afterwards,  the  bishop  entered  the  vestry  in 
order  to  receive  a  formal  address  from  the  most  distin- 
guished among  the  laity  of  the  parish.  His  reply  was 
most  touching  and  affectionate,  reminding  many  of  St. 
Paul's  concluding  words  in  his  first  Epistle  to  the  Corin- 
thians; and  though  he  tearfully  said:  "Greet  ye  one 
another  with  a  holy  kiss,"  he,  like  a  faithful  pastor,  warn- 
ed them  at  the  same  time  in  these  words :  **  If  any  man 
love  not  the  Lord,  let  him  be  anathema  maranatha." 

When  the  oration  was  ended,  his  lordship,  the  clergy, 
and  a  select  number  of  invited  guests,  were  to  dine  at  Par 
son  Beckett's.  The  rector,  of  course,  spared  neither  pains 
nor  expense  to  get  up  something  suitable  for  the  great 
occasion.  It  was  rather  an  exclusive  affair— no  ladies 
were  present— the  dinner  was  all  that  the  greatest  epicure 
could  desire ;  the  wines  were  such  as  to  satisfy  the  taste  of 


*A  common 
Eniflaud. 


wind-up."  after  Confirmation,  in  many  parts  of 


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THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


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the  most  fastidious  bon  vivant,  and  as  soon  as  some  of  the 
reverend  guests  had  been  sufficiently  stimulated,  diffidence 
gave  way,  and  the  boldest  opinions  were  ventured— even 
in  the  august  presence  of  a  bishop— on  many  of  the  prom- 
inent political,  religious,  and  social  topics  of  the  day. 
Among  the  clergymen  present,  their  ideas  seemed  to  be  as 
different  as  their  persons.  Though,  as  Churchmen,  they 
had  all  subscribed  to  the  famous  Thirty-nine  Articles— con- 
scientiously, no  doubt— yet  strange  to  say,  there  were  dif- 
ferences of  opinion,  just  as  conscientious,  regarding  the 
Ritual,  the  Athanasian  Creed,  the  mode  of  Baptism,  the 
Prayer  Book,  and  even  the  very  Scriptures.  For  instance, 
one  clergyman  would  alter  and  expand  the  Ritual;  he 
would  have  rich  vestments,  lighted  candles,  incense,  and 
tinkling  bells,  and  make  church  ceremonies  altogether 
more  attractive  and  imposing;  another  disdained  all  hea- 
thenish show ;  he  would  simplify  the  service,  and  purify 
the  Church  from  every  thing  Judaical  or  Popish.  One 
would  rid  the  Athanasian  Creed  of  its  monstrous  damna- 
tory clauses ;  another  would  retain  every  threat  that  might 
strike  terror  into  unbelievers.  A  certain  minister  thought 
immersion  of  adults  was  the  proper  mode  of  baptism; 
another  firmly  believed  that  infant  sprinkling  was  just  as 
efficacious.  One  distinguished  divine  would  revise  the 
Prayer  Book,  and  expunge  from  its  pages  vain  repetitions, 
and  every  text  from  the  Apocrypha,  especially  anything 
inserted  from  the  book  of  Tobit ;  he  never  referred  to  that 
book,  but  he  thought  of  Tobit  and  his  sparrows ;  a  story 
too  puerile  and  silly  for  Christian  ears ;  an  opponent  would 
not  lessen  the  bulk  of  the  Prayer  Book  for  any  considera- 
tion, that  estimable  book  was  compiled  by  eminent  bish- 
ops, by  some  vfho  had  laid  down  their  lives  for  the  faith. 
Next  to  the  Bible,  it  had  his  most  devout  veneration  as 
being  a  blessing  to  the  souls  of  men.  The  Apocryphal 
Scriptures  had  been  singularly  useful ;  for  centuries  they 
had  been  read  in  the  primitive  Church,  and  many 
learned  and  devout  ministers,  after  much  research,  had 
asserted  that  these  very  Scriptures  were  just  as  iuu(;h 


fact 


THE   HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


139 


inspired,  and  as  authoritative,  as  those  which  had  been 
retained.  The  pious  story  of  Tobit  and  his  sparrows, 
could,  and  ought  to  be,  read  with  as  much  edification 
by  Christians  in  general,  as  the  story  of  Balam's  ass,  or 
that  of  Jonah  and  the  whale,  or  other  similar  holy  and 
credible  narratives.  One  rector,  on  the  other  hand,  broadly 
asserted,  that  not  only  Apocryphal  readings,  but  every 
(liscrepancy  as  to  time,  place,  and  circumstance,  and  in 
fact  every  statement  not  sustained  by  scientific  facts,  or 
not  in  accordance  with  the  advanced  ideas  of  this  enlight- 
ened age,  should  be  eliminated  from  the  holy  Scriptures; 
to  this,  another  rector  tartly  replied,  that  were  such  a  pro- 
cess of  expurgation  resorted  to,  all  that  would  be  left  of 
the  Bible  might  be  easily  enclosed  in  his  lordship's  snurt'- 
box. 

These  jarring  sentiments  among  clergymen  of  the  same 
church,  were  very  amusing  to  some  of  the  guests,  who, 
perhai)S,  cared  but  little  what  Church  they  belonged  to,  so 
long  as  it  was  called  the  State  Church.  The  Rev.  Mr. 
Meade,  who  sat  near  the  end  of  the  table,  listened  to  the 
foregoing  clerical  remarks  with  some  surprise;  he  had 
often  heard  similar  discordant  sentiments  uttered  private- 
ly, or  in  a  whisper,  but  now  they  were  boldly  spoken  even 
iji  the  presence  of  a  chief  shepherd.  And  though  High 
Church,  and  Low  Church,  and  Broad  Church,  and  Narrow 
Church,  and  no  church  at  all,  views  were  expressed  with 
the  greatest  freedom,  the  bishop  appeared  indifferent  as 
to  what  was  uttered  by  altitudinarians,  latitudinarians, 
platitudinarians  or  attitudinarians ;  indeed,  his  lordship 
seemed  at  times  to  relish  the  discussion,  ready  to  prompt 
one  or  another  with  a  reply ;  and  he  would  occasionally 
enjoy  a  hearty  laugh  at  the  evident  discomfiture  of  some 
contesting  divine  who  had  incautiously  gone  beyond  his 
depth  in  a  too  eager  and  confident  defence  of  what  has 
been  called,  with  a  kind  of  reverential  boast,  "  the  grand 
old  story  of  the  Pentateuch." 

During  the  time  so  occupied  in  polemical  discussion, 
the  bishop,  though  listening  at  intervals  to  his  debating 


1 11(9 


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140 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


clergy,  was  mostly  engaged  in  conversation  witii  liis  old 
friend  and  host,  Parson  Bockett,  on  the  merits  of  the  win- 
ner of  the  stakes  at  the  late  Derby ;  and  he  would  become 
almost  absorbed  in  depicting  the  fine  points  of  the  most 
noted  horses  of  the  day.  While  at  college,  his  lordshii) 
and  the  rector  had  backed  many  a  fleet  courser  at  Epsom, 
and  at  other  places,  and  it  was  still,  it  might  be  said,  a 
matter  of  harmless  interest  to  renew  an  old  theme  that 
had  enabled  them  to  pass  many  a  pleasant  hour. 

"Vanscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  now  addressing  one  of 
his  chaplains  who  sat  near  him,  "Have  you  nothing  to 
say  among  these  wranglers?  But,  O!  I  know  you  are  a 
sad  skeptic,  and  you  are  glad  to  hear  those  fellows  tear 
theology  to  pieces.    Is  that  not  so  ?  " 

"You  know,  my  lord,"  replied  Mr.  Vanscourt,  **  that  if 
the  wolves  devour  one  another,  it  will  be  so  much  better 
for  the  flock.  You  are,  of  course,  aware  that  some  of  our 
leading  modern  philosophers  incline  to  think  that  theol- 
ogy itself  is  a  ravening  wolf  which  mankind  ought  to 
hunt  down;  and  in  my  opinion,  the  priests  themselves 
are  now  doing  the  work  which  the  people  ought  to  have 
v'  jne  long  ago.  For  ages  the  Church,  like  Saturn,  has 
lived  on  its  children— devoured  its  offspring.  But  Neme- 
sis has  come  at  last,  and  now  the  Chuch,  like  Niobe,  may 
mourn  over  those  who  have  departed;  over  many,  my 
lord,  who  will  never  return." 


T 


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11 
li 

Ij 

ll 

I 

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It 

! 


'i,?i/ 


CHAPTER    XV. 


DOUBTING  CLERGY,   EDUCATED  HEATHEN,  THE  MERCHANDIZE  OF 

SOULS. 

rpHE  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt,  the  bishop's  favorite  chaplain, 
-■■  was  one  of  those  clergymen  of  the  Colenso  type, 
whom  his  lordship  was  pleased  to  call  eccentric.  He  was 
as  reckless  in  reasoning  on  statements  in  the  "Sacred 
Texts,"  as  he  would  be  on  statements  in  Baron  Munchau- 
sen or  in  Gulliver's  Travels ;  and  it  was  thought  that  he 
was  even  too  ready,  and  too  impolitic,  to  admit  the  conclu- 
sions which  such  reasoning  might  force  upon  him.  Still, 
while  willing  to  be  numbered  among  the  clergy,  and  to 
receive  clerical  pay,  he  would  pass  many  a  joke  at  the 
expense  of  things  called  sacred,  and  would  fain  be  taken 
for  a  skeptic,  just  as  a  very  numerous  class  of  persons  who 
are  in  reality  skeptics,  yet  lacking  moral  courage,  would 
like  to  pass  current  in  Christian  society  as  being  truly 
orthodox.  At  times  Mr.  Vanscourt  would  startle  his  cler- 
ical friends  with  questions  which  were  suggestive  of  any 
thing  but  confident  belief  in  the  inspiration  of  the  scrip- 
tures, and  though  he  was  looked  upon  by  some  of  the 
clergy  as  an  "oddity,"  and  by  others  as  a  very  tottering 
pillar  of  the  Church,  yet  so  long  as  the  spiritual  ruler  of 
Storkchester  was  satisfied  with  his  ministrations,  and 
content  to  retain  him  as  his  principal  chaplain,  of  what 
use  was  it  to  complain,  or  even  to  remonstrate  V  There 
were  many  others  such  as  Mr.  Vanscourt  within  the  pale ; 
and  when  prelates  dared  to  write  heresy,  and  distinguish- 


» i 


It,     i  "^^ 

••'•i^t!:  ,    tfft'" 


diH< 


142 


THE  HiJATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ed  clergy  to  print  reviews  calculated  to  undermine  the 
true  faith,  surely  the  mere  words  of  this  favorite  chap- 
lain might  be  overlooked.  Furthermore,  did  not  tliis 
"eccentric"  priest  know  something  of  the  acts  of  the 
undoubtedly  orthodox  clergy  that  was  far,  far  worse  than 
heterodox  words,  and  more  contaminating  than  the  great- 
est skepticism  ?  * 

"  But  Vanscourt,"  again  said  his  lordship  in  a  quizzing 
manner,  "while  you  stand  in  a  pulpit  and  wear  a  gown,  you 
must  not  hesitate  to  say  something  in  defence  of  the  faith. 
Some  of  our  friends  here  try  to  make  it  appear  that  the 
gospels  are  mere  fabrications  from  ancient  legends,  one 
gospel  contradicting  the  other.  Come,  let  us  have  a  vin- 
dication or  an  exposition  from  you." 

"My  lord,  I  must  admiv,  my  total  inability  to  satisfy 
your  lordship's  astuteness  upon  points  so  dubitative.  At 
best  we  can  only  guess  as  to  whom  the  gospels  can  be 
ascribed.  I  am  reluctantly  obliged  to  say  that  these  writ- 
ings contain  many  contradictions  which  we  cannot  gloss 
over  as  Tertuliian,  Origen  and  Eusobius  have  done.  Ter- 
tuUian,  you  know,  said  that  he  believed  a  certain  doctrine 
to  be  *  absolutely  true  because  it  was  manifestly  impossi- 
ble,' and  Eusebius  would  have  gone  further.  But  in  these 
latter  days  we  are  obliged  to  give  a  more  tangible  reason 
for  the  faith  that  is  in  us.  There  is  a  track  of  doubt  on 
every  modern  highway.  I  cannot  assert  that  much  learn- 
ing will  make  men  mad,  but  I  am  positive  it  will  make 
them  skeptical.  Boys  now  laugh  at  the  ogres  that  fright- 
ened their  fathers,  verifying  the  remark,  that  the  creed  of 
one  age  may  be  the  romance  of  the  next." 

"Take  care,  Vanscourt,  take  care;  if  you  meet  Doubt 
on  your  travels  and  take  it  home,  you  should  never  bring 
it  to  church  with  you." 

"  But,  my  lord,"  returned  the  chaplain,  "  what  a  her*  u- 
lean  task  it  would  be  were  we  obliged  to  try  and  reconcilo 
the  statements  *nd  doctrines  of  the  original  number  of 


(( 


•  See  Note  6, 


THE  HEATbCNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


143 


gospels.  If  there  are  so  many  discrepancies  in  tlie  four 
which  we  are  blessed  with,  what  a  number  there  might  be 
in  the  forty  or  fifty  which  you  are  aware  were  received  by 
the  ancient  fathers  of  the  Christian  Church." 

"Ah,  Vanscourt,  you  ought  to  have  lived  in  the  times 
of  these  same  primitive  fathers.  If  we  at  this  late  period 
are  so  easily  imposed  on  as  you  think,  what  a  field  there 
might  then  have  been  for  your  critical  talents  among  such 
men  as  Eusebius,  who  we  must  admit,  was  not  over  scrup- 
ulous in  the  inventing  of  so-called  official  records  and 
miraculous  legends,  to  gain  believers.  Pshaw!  what  was 
the  real  harm  in  that,  if  he  made  men  better  ?  You  are 
too  critical,  Vanscourt ;  you  would  have  made  a  capital 
Celsus.'* 

"  Thank  you,  my  lord,  for  the  compliment;  I  am  glad 
you  are  willing  to  admit  that  Eusebius,  and  others  of  the 
Christian  fathers,  were  not,  as  you  are  pleased  to  say,  too 
scrupulous,  in  order  to  make  their  opinions  popular. 
Though  some  of  our  divines  still  almost  worship  Eusebius, 
proof  is  now  abundant  that  he  dealt  in  wholesale  fabrica- 
tion ;  he  would  not  hesitate  to  write  a  gospel  himbclf  were 
it  necessary  to  convince  others.  His  interpolation  in  Jo- 
sephus,  and  his  other  pious  frauds,  stamp  him  as  a  master 
in  the  art  of  deception.  Indeed,  his  motto  might  well 
have  been — 'Vulgus  vult  decipi—decipiatur* 

"Vanscourt,  Variscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  laughing, 
'*  you  are  really  another  Celsus.  You  make  no  allowance 
whatever  for  the  pious  zeal  of  the  early  bishops ;  they  had 
to  accommodate  themselves  to  the  superstitions  of  igno- 
rant pagans.  If  our  great  apostle  thought  it  harmless  to 
tell  a  little  fib,  to  make  converts,  some  excuse  should  be 
made  for  Eusebius.  Paul  said  plainly,  '  For  if  the  truth 
of  God  hath  more  abounded  through  my  lie,  unto  His 
glory,  why  yet  am  I  also  judged  as  a  sinner  ? '  What  can 
you  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  I  care  not,  my  lord ;  a  lie  is  a  lie,  whether  spoken  by 

♦  The  common  people  wish  to  be  deceived--(i8celved  let  them  be. 


,iii*i'' 


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THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Peter,  cr  Paul,  or  the  angel  Gabriel.  Truth  is  a  pillar 
that  can  stand  alone ;  it  needs  not  the  buttress  of  false- 
hood to  keep  it  perpendicular,  and  some  of  those;  whom 
we  called  ignorant  pagans,  soon  told  us  as  much." 

"  No  use,  no  use  in  speaking  to  you,  Vanscourt ;  you 
are  incorrigible.  While  many  of  our  most  eminent  theo- 
logians admit  that  it  is  still  a  debatable  question,  whether 
we  may  not  deceive  the  vulgar  if  it  be  for  their  own  good ; 
whether  we  may  not  do  a  little  evil  that  good  may  come ; 
you  would  have  straight  up  and  down  perfection.  No  such 
thing  is  to  be  had.  Vanscourt,  take  care ;  I  lately  heard 
one  of  our  pious  ministers  prophesy  that  the  death  of 
Judas  was  in  store  for  you." 

•'  Prophets,  my  lord,  cannot  always  be  relied  on.  Ora- 
cles, prophets,  seers,  and  soothsayers,  are  now  rated  by 
many  as  nothing  beyond  shrewd  guessers  or  common 
fortune  tellers.  Some  of  our  commentators  have  been 
sadly  puzzled  to  know  whether  any  prophesies  have  ever 
been  fulfilled.  Appropos  of  Judas,  I  must  now  seek  infor- 
mation from  you.  What  was  the  end  of  this  disciple  ?  I 
would  like  to  know  what  kind  of  a  death  it  is  which  our 
clerical  friend  says  is  in  store  for  me.  One  of  our  scrip- 
tural accounts  says  that  Judas  went  out  and  hung  himself; 
another  account  of  equal  authority  intimates  that  he  per- 
formed hari  kari,  as  they  still  do  in  the  East,  that  is, 
he  burst  asunder  in  the  middle,  and  that  all  his  bowels 
gushed  out.  Now  will  your  lordship  be  pleased  to  enlight- 
en me  on  this  subject  ?    How  did  Judas  die  ?  " 

It  is  not  known  whether  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt  ever 
got  a  satisfactory  answer  to  this  question,  his  lordship's 
attention  having  been  called  in  another  direction.  Differ- 
ent subjects,  by  different  parties,  had  been  discused  at 
both  ends  of  the  table,  matters  which  seemed  to  attract 
much  attention,  and  one  which  related  to  the  very  strange 
remarks  made  by  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,*  at  a  late 

*  At  Carlisle— 1872.  The  above  remarks  of  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, and  the  Hindoo  replies,  are  an  abridgement  of  those  pub- 
lished in  the  London  Times, 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


145 


5iiiflsionary  inoeting.  "His  Grace,"  in  urging  the  neces- 
>ity  for  greater  missionary  exertions  among  the  heatlien, 
was  reported  to  have  said,  when  referring  to  the  danger 
which  he  thought  existed  by  an  increased  intercourse  with 
the  great  number  of  Hindoo,  Chinese,  and  Japanese  mer- 
cliants  and  students  in  London,  that  "  In  our  metropolis 
we  are  brought  so  near  heathenism  of  the  worst  class, 
that,  unless  we  take  some  steps  for  the  converting  of  the 
heathen,  the  heathen  will  be  converting  us.  For  this  is  not 
merely  an  imaginary  idea,  I  am  afraid  to  say  it,  but  I  can- 
no*  help  thinking  that  this  great  proximity  of  the  East  to 
ourselves,  has  somehow  or  other,  affected  the  philosophy 
on  which  the  young  men  feed  in  our  great  seminaries  of 
learning ;  that  men  of  learning  have  more  toleration  for 
that  denial  than  they  had  in  the  olden  times ;  that  sys- 
tems which  have  existed  for  centuries  in  the  extreme  lands 
of  heathenism,  are  finding  some  sort  of  echo  even  among 
the  literature  and  philosophy  of  this  Christian  country." 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  who  heard  this  extract  read,  was 
amazed  at  such  an  admission  from  the  Primate  of  the 
great  wealthy  Established  Church  of  England;  amazed 
to  find  him  concede  the  possibility  of  the  heathen  '*  con- 
verting us,'*  and  to  find  his  logic  floundering  through 
weak  expressions,  such  as  "  some  how  or  other,"  "some 
sort  of  echo,"  phrases  unsuitable  for  the  capacity  of  a 
school  boy.  What !  after  all  the  treasure  that  has  been 
wrung  from  the  nation  in  support  of  the  popular  faith, 
after  the  assumed  purer  faith  having  been  propped  and 
supported  for  centuries  by  kings  and  rulers;  after  tlie 
powerful  aid  of  money  and  swords ;  after  the  vast  expendi- 
ture which  has  been  incurred  to  Christianize  such  hea- 
thens; after  prayer  and  the  persecution  of  unbelievers; 
and  after  the  Divine  promise  of  support!  What!  all  to 
be  endangered  by  the  too  free  intercourse  with  a  mere 
half  hundred  of  educated  heathens ;  a  danger  of  being 
converted  to  heathenism  by  the  very  people  among  whom, 
and  for  whose  supposed  benefit,  we  have  been  wasting 
missionary  lives  and  missionary  treasure,  while  leaving 


mi 


ii; 


Ki!!"r!»; 


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146 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 

Its 


t}0 


■'"t  , 


British  heathens— a  class  too  ignorant  and  too  brutal  to 
be  compared  with  Asiatics— in  a  state  of  the  lowest  dej^ra- 
dation.  O!  your  Grace  of  Canterbury,  O!  wealthy  Pri- 
mate, what  an  admission !  What  an  inducement  for  the 
intelligent  Brahmins,  and  Buddhists,  and  Parsees,  totako 
your  fears  into  consideration,  to  return  missionary  com- 
pliments, and  to  mercifully  send  over  a  number  of  theii- 
zealous  educated  priests  to  heathenize  and  elevate  the 
lowest  caste  of  British  barbarians  who  are  such  a  cryinj:: 
disgrace  to  the  State  Church  and  to  civilization.  O !  Righi 
Honorable  and  Most  Reverend  "  Canterbury!  O!  prince  of 
Lambeth!  your  pusillanimous  admission  should  make  you 
ashamed  of  your  spiritual  pretensions.  After  this,  your 
apostolic  twaddle,  and  your  consecrated  imposture,  shouhl 
be  treated  with  contempt;  you  should  bo  mulct  by  all 
Christendom,  were  it  only  to  the  paltry  extent  of  one  year's 
salary;  you  would  hardly  miss  £15,000— ($75,000,)  and  it 
mi  ,'ht  be  far  better  thrown  away  in  sending  one  or  two 
dozen  extra  missionaries  to  India  an  to  waste  the  same 
amount  of  the  harder  earned  mvuey  of  the  people  by 
leaving  it  with  you. 

The  remarks  of  the  Archbishop  soon  elicited  pointed 
replies  from  educated  Hindoos.  One,  among  many  forci- 
ble things,  wrote,  that:  "In  these  days  of  insincerity  and 
hypocrisy,  when  men  are  paid  for  declaring  opinions  and 
propagating  beliefs  they  do  not  believe  in,  it  is  not  a  novel 
thing  to  see  the  High  Priest  of  the  Established  Church 
expressing  opinions  remarkable  alike  for  their  inaccuracy 
and  want  of  charity. "  The  foregoing  part  of  this  sentence 
was  such  a  hit — a  very  hard  hit  too— at  the  position  occu- 
pied in  the  church  by  Rev.  gentlemen  like  Mr.  Vanscourt, 
that  nearly  every  one  at  the  table  applauded  the  palpably 
correct  statements  of  the  Hindoo.  And  the  same  educated 
heathen  further  wrote :  "  Such  of  the  English  statesmen 
and  officials  who  watch  the  transition  the  Indian  mind  is 
passing  through,  and  the  rapid  strides,  intellectual  and 
moral,  which  are  the  products  of  a  liberal  education ;  will 
bear  me  out  in  saying  that  the  religious  belief  (if  by  relig- 


THE   HFATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


147 


gious  belief,  is  meant  a  system  vvhi«.'h  inculcates  doctrine^?, 
of  future  life,  charity,  etc.,)  of  the  so-called  heathens,  is 
as  enlightened  as  that  professed,  (but  not  imi>licitly  follow- 
edl  by  the  class  whose  views  are  echoed  by  the  Archbishop. 
These  heathens  have  toleration  for  their  fundamental 
creed.  That  no  religion  can  be  considered  enlightened 
which  is  not  tolerant,  is  a  truth  taught  by  history.  We 
(heathens')  infer  from  certain  expressions  which  escaped 
His  Grace  that  toleration  has  no  recognized  place  in  the 
Christian  religion,"  and  the  same  heathen  further  added, 
"  it  is  as  unlikely  for  the  heathen  in  London  to  embrace 
the  belief  inculcated  by  the  Archbishop,  as  it  is  for  Mr. 
Stuart  Mill,  or  Professor  Tyndall  to  believe  in  the  com- 
monly received  form  of  Protestantism." 

And,  again,  His  Grace  was  replied  to  by  another  heathen, 
who  wrote  to  express  the  "intense  pain,"  with  which  ho 
had  read  the  "unjust  attack,"  made,  '* by  the  head  of  the 
Church  on  us  heathens."  **To  the  educated  heathen 
sojourning  here  it  is  a  matter  of  merriment  to  see  the 
different  s^ts  of  Christians  keeping  up  an  incessant  war- 
fare with  each  other."  "On  the  other  hand,  it  will  do 
immense  good  to  His  Grace  to  learn,  that  the  most  of  us 
heathens  from  India  have  an  unmitigated  hatred  for  those 
who,  having  it  in  their  power  to  ascertain  the  truth,  do 
not  study  accuracy,  who  do  not  care  to  read  the  works  of 
heathen  writers  on  religion  and  philosophy,  and  yetabusf> 
them  and  those  who  follow  them,  simply  because  they  are 
heathen,  who  have  not  yet  learned  the  simple  lesson  of 
speaking  without  disrespect  about  the  religious  opinions 
of  visitors  to  their  country ;  and,  lastly,  who  call  us  hea- 
thens *  of  the  worst  class '  for  adopting  the  views  of 
celebrities  like  Mr.  Mill,  Mr.  Spencer,  Mr.  Darwin,  Prof. 
Huxley  and  others." 

The  Eev.  Mr.  Meade,  who  had  heard  this  rei)ort  read 
by  one  of  the  Rev.  gentlemen  present  felt  that  the  remarks 
of  these  heathens  were  but  too  true ;  that  not  only  intelli- 
gent Christians  but  Christian  priests,  do  not  care  to  *'  study 
accuracy  "  as  to  the  position  of  unbelievers,  and  do  not 


I  J'  ^    m  I 
;  ;i!!?T>; 

;  :ii!l'1!rt 

I  ;)ltllA|    I'll 


i  :    I 


148 


TH2  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


desire  to  read  the  wor^^  of  heathens  or  of  infidels,  just  as  if 
it  were  possible  to  come  to  a  fair  decision  without  hearing 
both  sides  impartial!  y .  He  felt  that  priestly  misrepresent- 
tations,  though  as  common  as  ever  against  heathens  and 
unbelievers,  were,  after  all,  but  little  heeded,  while  the 
reasoning  of  Mill,  and  Spencer,  and  the  scientific  doctrines 
of  Darwin,  Huxley,  and  Tyndall,  were  receiving  increased 
attention  even  when  religious  creeds  and  revelations  were 
being  declared  illusory  by  the  startling  facts  of  science. 

When  the  reading  of  the  Archbishop's  address,  and  the 
Hindoo  replies  thereto  had  been  finished,  the  greater 
number  of  clergymen  present,  as  well  as  Mr.  Meade  were 
altogether  more  inclined  to  applaud  the  manly  sentiments 
of  the  educated  heathens  than  to  defend  the  craven  posi- 
tion of  the  Archbishop. 

The  conversation  then  turned  upon  advowsons.  Two  or 
three  of  the  wealthy  rectors  mentioned  several  choice 
places  where  capital  livings  could  be  had  for  a  mere  song, 
and  one  of  these  gentlemen  just  then  happened  to  see  in  the 
paper  in  v  hich  he  had  been  reading  about,  ^^he  Arch- 
bishop and  the  Heathens,"  a  number  of  clerical  advertise- 
uionts  for  the  sale  of  advowsons,  one  of  which  was  as 
follows : 

"  ADVOWSON  FOR  SALE  BY  PRIVATE  CONTRACT.* 

Advowson  of  a  living  in  the  south  of  England.  Population  250, 
^'/hoUy  agricultural.  No  Dissent.  Fine  old  church,  lately  restored. 
Capital  house,  containing  twelve  bed  and  three  sitting-rooms,  office, 
stabling,  etc.,  complete.  Productive  garden,  hot-house,  conservatory. 
Dry  soil  and  mild  climate.  Good  market  town.  Communication  to 
London  and  all  parts  of  the  country  by  railway.  Estimated  value 
£5*20  per  annum.    Age  of  the  present  incumbent  66." 

Hfre  was  considered  a  chance  for  speculation  and  cleri- 
calcase;  only  a  population  of  250,  no  dissent,  the  incumbent 
(56,  and  a  chance  of  his  being  sickly.  This  was  said  to  be 
the  cream  of  all  similar  advertisements  in  that  day's 
paper,  and  was  pronounced  just  the  thing  for  any  gentle- 


♦  This  advertisement  appeared  in  the  Church  Hecord,  with  other» 
of  similar  purport. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


149 


man  present  who  had  an  extra  worthless  stupid  son  to  be 
provided  for.  Indeed  it  was  believed  that  none  of  the 
clerical  intelligence  offices  in  London  could  furnish  better.* 

Alluding  to  this  advertisement,  an  English  paper,  the 
Birmingham  Morning  Post,  remarks : 

"  That  is  a  delightful  touch—"  no  dissent  "—so  courteous 
so  Christian,  and  so  expressive ;  as  if  one  should  say  of  a 
house,  '  no  bad  smells,'  'no  vulgar  neighbors,'  'no  ver- 
min.' Then  beside  the  absence  of  Dissenters,  the  living 
is  otherwise  desirable.  Two  pounds  a  head  for  looking 
after  250  people,  with  twenty  pounds  over,  is  not  bad  pay, 
especially  when  we  consider  the  'fine  old  church,'  the 
'capital  house,*  with  its  twelve  bed-rooms,  garden,  hot- 
house, conservatory,  stabling,  and  other  appurtenances 
so  well  known  to  ministers  among  the  early  Christians. 
The  age  of  the  present  incumbent  only  sixty-six,  is  a  draw- 
back; he  might  live  twenty  years  longer,  and  then  the 
purchase  of  this  '  cure  of  souls ' — fancy  the  connection  of 
such  phrases ! — would  be  a  bad  speculation.  Still  the  thing 
is  so  very  tempting  that  buyers  will  no  doubt  come  for- 
ward, and  the  right  of  shepherding  and  shearing  these  250 
sheep  in  the  South  of  England  will  pass  from  hand  to 
hand  for  a  considera+'on  like  any  piece  of  merchandise. 
We  wonder  what  St.  Paul  would  have  thought  of  the  busi- 
ness.   But  then  in  his  day  they  didn't  take  the  Kecord." 

The  clergyman  laid  down  the  paper,  and,  while  the 
conversation  continued,  Mr.  Meade  took  up  another  jour- 
nal and  glanced  at  its  contents,  and  another  advertisement 
soon  attracted  his  attention ;  it  read : 

Clerical.— "Wanted,  a  Curate  for  the  Warrington  Parish  Church, 
stipend  first  year  £l50,  second  year,  £i2n,  to  undortake  the  whole 
duty  while  tlie  rector  is  away,  about  nine  months  in  the  year,  and  to 
superintend  the  making  of  the  rector's  liay,  etc.  Apply  to  theliov. 
W.  Queckett,  rector  of  Warrington." t 

Ah,  thought  Mr.  Meade  what  a  chance  this  would  be  for 

♦See  Note  7. 

t  This  advertisement  appeared  in  the  Manchester  Guardian  of 
July  aoth,  1870. 


IE 


!^ 


Sli  I 


if: 


I. 


Ji 


150 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


me,  what  an  advance  on  my  present  stipend  but  why 
should  it  be  £30  less  the  second  year  ?  Still,  however,  at 
that,  the  income  would  be  fully  fifty  per  cent,  over  what  I 
have  now,  and  for  Esther's  sake  I  would  superintend  tho 
making  of  hay  or  even  make  it  myself.  But  then,  again 
thought  he,  even  if  I  should  get  this  position,  how  could  I 
leave  my  poor  wife's  grave  ;  how  could  I  leave  the  vener- 
able church  in  which  I  have  so  long  preached :  how  could 
I  leave  my  old  parishioners.  Where  would  be  good  old 
Stephen's  greeting  smile  in  the  morning,  or  his  kind  adieu 
at  night;  who  could  serve  Esther  so  faithfully?  Ah  no, 
dear  old  Pendell,  I  cannot  leave  thee,  and  when  my  sun 
sets,  as  it  soon  may,  I  must  rest  on  thy  bosom,  and  wither 
away  among  thy  autumn  leaves. 

No;  great  as  the  inducement  might  be — an  increase  of 
stipend  by  fifty  per  cent.,  and  the  rector  absent  niiit^ 
months  in  the  year,  with  the  privilege  of  making  hay  - 
yet  the  poor  curate  of  Pendell  would  forgo  all  rather  than 
sunder  old  ties;  he  would  still  prefer  to  submit  to  tho 
dubious  attentions,  and  to  the  increased  but  hardly  wel- 
come visits  of  his  rector,  Mr.  Morton,  rather  than  acceiit 
a  better  paying  position,  and  a  curacy  where  his  Eev, 
employer  might  be  present  only  during  three  months  in 
the  whole  year. 

Other  toijics  were  then  discussed  by  the  convivial 
clergy.  Unbelief  and  Dissent  weve  blamed  for  the  dissatis- 
faction created  among  agricultural  laborers;  "strikes" 
and  "unions"  were  denounced.  The  bishop  expresseil 
himself  strongly  against  such  combinations ;  the  interest 
of  the  landed  gentry  and  employers  should  be  considered 
paramount;  and  declared  with  some  vehemence,  that, 
"itinerant  agitators,"  who  speak  in  behalf  of  the  working 
men,  and  who  disturb  their  minds ;  "should  be  ducked  in 
a,  horse  pond  ;"*  and  a  nobleman  present  apj>roving  of  his 
Lordship's  remarks,  advised  that  all  who  joined  a  union, 

♦  The  very  words  of  the  bishop  of  Gloucester  at  a  late  meeting  in 
Engluud— 1672. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


151 


"  should  be  deprived  of  their  allotments  "  (turned  off  their 
land)  "giving  no  hope  even  of  a  potato  patch."* 

The  question  of  the  growing  insubordination— as  it  was 
calL  d  -of  working  men,  and  the  increasing  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence manifested  by  them  toward  their  superiors  and 
employers  led  to  a  conversation  concerning  the  lawless 
people  of  the  Heath.  These  unfortunates  were  bitterly  de- 
nounced as  cut-throats  and  vagabonds;  as  benighted 
allies  of  republicans,  infidels,  and  dissenters;  and  no 
words  of  condemnation  were  sufficiently  strong  to  express 
the  feelings  of  the  Kev.  Mr.  Rockett  against  these  viola- 
tors of  law  and  order.  His  position  as  a  rector  had  been 
scoffed  at,  and  his  power  as  a  magistrate  not  only  treated 
with  contempt,  but  the  vile  herd,  ungrateful  for  his  leni- 
3nt  exercise  of  authority  in  dealing  with  the  thieves, 
poachers,  vagabonds,  and  gypsies,  that  rambled  from  the 
Devil's  Dale  to  prey  on  honest  people— had  sent  some  of 
those  very  wretches  to  lie  in  wait,  and  actually  to  plunder 
himself,  as  it  was  he  was  comparatively  powerless  against 
them — they  conspired  to  protect  one  another.  A  bailift 
whom  he  had  sent  out  some  time  ago  with  a  warrant,  had 
oeen  nearly  beaten  to  death  by  more  than  fifty  of  these 
:owardly  scoundrels,  and  though  months  had  passed  the 

♦  The  very  recommendation  of  a  "Noble  Duke"  at  the  same  time 
—a  dissenting  minister  probably  alluded  to  the  Bishop  and  the  Duke 
in  the  following  reference  to  an  address- 
Mr.  Spurgeon  in  a  recent  address  in  his  tabernacle  took  occasion 
incidentally  to  refer  to  the  Warwickshire  farm  laborers'  strike.  Ho 
remarked  that,  in  many  instances,  clergymen  were  blind  leaders  of 
the  blind,  and  if  a  poor  man  went  to  a  Dissenting  chapel  he  was  sub- 
jected to  a  kind  of  ostracism  by  the  clergyman  and  the  squires.  The 
condition  of  the  agricultural  laborers  was  most  shameful,  and  ho  had 
not  rejoiced  in  anything  more  than  when  he  heard  they  had  begun  to 
stick  and  combine  for  their  own  interest.  He  wondered  they  had  not 
gone  out  on  strike  long  ago.  No  doubt  if  wages  were  raised  farmers 
would  complain  they  were  pinched.  In  that  case  the  farmers  must 
pinch  the  landlords.  He  had  not  a  great  deal  of  sympathy  for  the 
latter,  for  there  were  numbers  who  had  their  thousands  of  acres  and 
who  could  stand  a  little  squeezing  without  being  reduced  to  aoject 
poverty  thereby  Negro  slavery  was  nothing  to  the  treatment  of  the 
laborers,  and  it  ought  to  be  denounced  by  every  honest  man  and 
earnest  tong\io. 


jii' 


fii! 


>*'^l 


•    M 


m. 


«st 


Mir*?- 

flllliA}      f  jj 


H 


11 


:? 


152 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


man  had  scarcely  yet  recovered,  and  the  injured  rector 
declared  his  intention  of  applying  to  high  authority  in 
order  to  rid  the  entire  Kingdom  of  such  wretches. 

There  is  something  in  human  nature  which  will  resist 
oppression  whether  it  be  clothed  in  tawdry  robes  of  state 
or  in  the  most  gorgeous  habiliments  of  priestly  power. 
The  ruffianism  too  often  displayed  byaharrassed,  hungry 
peasantry,  is  frequently  the  fiendish  shape  or  creation  of 
impotence  against  injury.  And  until  rulers,  priests,  and 
philosophers,  are  able  to  satisfy  the  impoverished,  why 
one  man  should  be  born  rich  and  another  poor ;  and  bo 
able  to  justify  the  great  inequality  of  our  present  social 
condition,  so  long  will  men  believe  they  have  been  wrong- 
ed ;  and  that  belief  will  cause  them  to  either  unite  in  a 
resistance  to  oppression  or  to  become  degraded  and  dan- 
gerous; talk  of  natural  depravity  as  we  like,  wealth  and 
repletion  may  make  rnen  insolent  and  mischievous,  but 
poverty,  pinching  poverty,  is  the  priicipal  source  of  crime. 


■m 


CHAPTER    XVI. 


A  MISSIONARY  EXCURSION. 


^PHOXJGH  the  Rev.  Mr.  Rockett,  rector  of  Betnall  had 
every  comfort  that  a  reasonable  man  could  desire ; 
though  he  was  a  favored  priest  of  the  Established  Church, 
and  a  magistrate  of  the  county ;  tliougli  he  exercised  much 
social  inj3uence,  and  might  have  done  much  good  both  to 
the  rich  and  to  the  poor,  yet  he  never  considered  it  his 
duty  to  look  beyond  himself,  or  the  nominal  duties  which 
his  position  required  him  to  perform.  He  was  hasty  and 
tyrannical  in  disposition,  and  was  certainly  anything  but 
a  favorite  with  the  half -starved  people  of  the  Heath,  for 
his  leniency  was  dreaded  and  his  mercy  was  terrible. 
Thieves  and  paupers  he  treated  alike :  and  for  the  most 
trifling  cause  he  sent  men,  women,  and  children— many  of 
whom  were  hungry  weak  and  sickly— to  the  hard  labor 
and  wretched  fare  of  the  dreaded  workhouse,  rather  than 
permit  vagrants  to  wander  about  or  to  beg  for  a  mouthful 
of  bread;  for  this  Christian  minister  liad  an  idea— one  per- 
haps not  peculiar  to  himself— that  a  man  who  was  very  poor 
and  very  importunate,  must,  as  a  matter  of  course,  be  a 
very  great  scoundrel.  So  he  had  a  ready  remedy ;  he  could 
not  compound  felony  with  a  penitent  thief— had  he  only 
stolen  an  apple ;  he  could  not  conscientiously  show  mercy 
to  a  i)oacher,  and  as  he  thought  a  very  destitute  person  or 
a  pauper  was  a  disgusting  object  to  be  seen  at  large,  he 
committed  all  without  distinction,  and  let  the  mercy  of 
the  law  take  its  course— the  only  mercy  he  could  ever  show. 


t'.rai; 


t;:: 
t 


H»k*i, 


»> 


Bf' 


tttt-" 


fti 


i 

( 

!  I  ■ 
i  \[ 
'<  \  ■ 


i' 
i; 


III. 


»''    t-i 


>  '  wi 


164 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


r 


It  might,  however,  be  alleged  that  he  had  some  reason 
for  this  magisterial  rigor.  Had  he  not  lost  rabbits  and 
bulldogs  occasionally;  had  not  his  garden  been  ransacked 
in  spite  of  his  man  traps ,  had  not  his  favorite  racer  been 
intentionally  lamed;  had  not  his  harness  been  cut  to 
pieces,  and  his  carriage  wheels  rolled  away;  and  had  not 
nearly  every  game  cock  worth  keeping  been  stolen  from 
him?  And  the  pilfering  of  the  last  fowl  of  this  kind  caused 
him  to  be  greatly  exasperated;  and  though  he  had  not 
been  lately  troubled,  by  those  from  the  Heath,  he  thought 
it  was  because  he  had  been  more  watchful.  Paupers  he 
detested  for  their  craving,  and  gypsies  he  hated,  as  a  race 
of  wandering  superstitious  wretches,  whom  he  would  ex- 
terminate. 

Most  of  the  clergy  present  had  heard  of  the  "  lawless 
rabble  "  of  the  Heath  and  shared  the  feeling  of  Mr.  Kockett 
against  them.  The  Eev.  Mr.  Meade  alone  ventured  to  say 
a  few  words  in  their  beh  ;  If —the  only  words  he  had  spoken 
openly  at  the  rector's  table.  He  stated  that  the  condition 
of  these  poeple  had  been  lately  much  improved.  A  wealthy 
gentleman,  now  the  owner  of  the  old  Mayston  estate,  had 
returned  scarcely  twelve  months  since,  from  India,  and 
had  determined  to  reside  on  the  property.  It  had  been 
said  that  the  people  of  the  Heath  never  could  be  civilized 
until  they  had  been  converted,  but  the  gentleman,  though 
he  had  not  made  any  efforts  to  convert,  had  undoubtedly 
reformed  them  in  a  great  degree,  and  he  hoped  that  in  a 
sliort  time  the  marked  change  in  their  circumstances  and 
conduct  would  meet  even  the  approval  of  the  rector  of 
Betnall. 

*'  Eeformed,  did  you  say  ?  Why  who  or  what  can  re- 
form them  or  improve  their  condition?"  almost  roared 
out  the  rector.  **I  care  not  who  goes  among  them,  saint 
or  pinner,  'twill  be  all  alike.  Reform,  indeed!  Did  they 
not  disdain  the  pure  gospel  we  would  have  sent?  Did 
they  not  afterwards  try  the  spurious  stuff  that  a  few  Meth- 
odist ranters  tried  to  cram  them  with?  And,  even  after 
that,  not  one  of  our  curates,  no,  not  one,  dared  venture 


rw 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


155 


among  them  to  counteract  false  teaching,  Don't  tell  me 
about  any  chance  of  their  reformation ;  neither  St.  Paul 
nor  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  could  do  any  thing  with 
them.  Transportation  or  the  gallows,  is,  and  can  be  the 
only  remedy." 

"  Now  I  really  think,"  said  the  bishop,  "  that  here,  jven 
at  home,  right  as  it  were  in  our  very  midst,  would  be  a 
fine  field  for  the  exhibuion  of  the  Primate's  missionary 
zeal.  We  have  tried  India  almost  in  vain ;  we  have  had 
costly  experience  in  other  countries,  and  as  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury  is  an  authority,  unless,  as  he  says, 
we  look  sharp  the  Hindoos  will  be  converting  us.  Glori- 
ous result  after  all  our  missionary  efforts !  Britain  to  be 
Brahminized  in  the  nineteenth  century.  By  the  by,  who 
is  this  new  comer  ?  Is  he  one  of  these  self-same  Hindoos 
whom  our  Primate  dreads  ?  " 

"No,  my  Lord,"  humbly  replied  Mi.  Meade,  **  he  is  an 
English  gentleman  who  had  spent  many  years  in  India— 
a  Christian  gentleman,  I  presume,  my  lord,  who  to  my 
knowledge  has  already  done  much  good  and  acquired 
much  influence  over  the  people  of  the  Heath." 

"  Well,  then,  he  must  be  one  of  the  Archbishop's  Hin- 
doos," again  roared  out  Mr.  Rockett,  "  he  can  be  no 
Christian.  Christianity  and  the  example  of  Christian  peo- 
ple have  totally  failed  to  influence  such  fiends.  No,  take 
my  word  for  it,  the  fellow  is  a  Hindoo." 

A  genuine  laugh  followed  this  remark  of  the  excited 
rector  of  Betr  all. 

"Strange,  very  strange,"  said  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt, 
ironically,  "  if  Christianity  itself  has  failed  to  benefit  these 
ignorant  creatures,  surely  the  every  day  life  and  example 
of  educated  clergymen  of  our  Apostolic  Church,  ought  to 
have  settled  the  matter,  and  convinced  them,  at  any  rate, 
that  our  form  of  godliness  is  great  gain.  Pon  my  honor, 
this  discrimination  is  greatly  at  fault." 

"  Vanscourt,"  said  the  bishop,  humorously,  to  his  chap- 
lain, "  I've  a  great  mind  to  send  you  over  to  the  Heath  to 
try  your  spiritual  skill.    Come,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 


at 


»— -" 


m 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


if] 


1  {   t 


<( 


My  lord,  I  feel  myself,  alas,  too  feeble  for  such  a  mis- 
sion. The  Gospel  in  good  hands— in  your  own,  for  in- 
stance—might do  much.  We  know  that  most  professing 
Christians  prefer  a  gilt-edged  Bible  to  a  very  plain  one ; 
and  I  think  that  gold,  with  the  Gospel,  has  made  our  faith 
attractive  among  heathens,  when  the  Gospel  alone  would 
be  rejected.  The  distribution  of  a  little  gold,  or  its  equiv- 
alent among  an  impoverished  people,  might  create 
on  the  Heath  a  wonderful  relish  for  our  doctrines.  I 
think  if  a  man  were  hungry,  he  would  be  inclined  to  pray 
for  bread  tirst,  and  for  his  soul  afterward.  Now,  my  lord, 
as  you  are  far,  far  more  wealthy  than  I  am,  and  as  you 
possess,  of  course,  more  spiritual  gifts  than  all  of  us  here 
together,  I  think,  therefore,  my  lord,"  said  the  chaplain, 
bowing  with  much  humility,  *'  that  you  should  be  the  mis- 
sionary to  the  Heath." 

"Very  good,  indeed;  well  done!  well  argued.  Vans- 
court,"  said  the  bishop,  laughing.  *'  Upon  my  word,  if  I 
thought  it  was  quite  safe,  I  would  go  down  among  these 
British  heathens  and  see  for  myself.  Of  course  you  would 
come,  Vanscourt  ?  " 

The  chaplain,  with  seeming  hesitation,  spread  his  hands 
by  his  sides,  and  bowed  acquiescence ;  and  th^n,  as  if  with 
a  timid  voice,  replied : 

"Where  your  lordship  would  choose  to  go,  I  dare  not 
refuse  to  follow;  but,  would  it  not,  would  it  not,  your 
lordship,  would  it  not  be  better  that  we  here  should  all  go 
together— all  together,  your  lordship?  What,  my  lord, 
were  we  obliged  to  fight  our  way  in,  and  fight  our  way  out 
among  those  evil  ones  ?  Let  us  all  go  together,  my  lord- 
would  it  not  be  much,  very  much  better  ?  " 

Another  hearty  laugh  followed  the  simulated  fear  of 
the  chaplain.  The  rector  of  Betnall  really  felt  uneasy  at 
the  proposal,  but  was  ashamed  to  exhibit  the  least  appre- 
hension. Mr.  Morton,  the  rector  of  Pendall,  wished  to 
plead  some  excuse ;  and  other  clergymen  present,  would 
prefer  to  enjoy  social  conversation  over  the  rector's  good 
wine  or  brandy,  rather  than  be  made  targets  of,  or  be 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


157 


pelted  with  stones,  or  even  hallooed  after  by  a  ragged, 
rascally  mob  away  out  on  this  vile  Heath ;  but  the  bishop 
having  expressed  his  determination  to  go,  the  Reverend 
clergy  all  seemed,  like  other  servile  beings,  to  comply 
with  alacrity. 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade  again  ventured  to  assure  his  lord- 
ship and  all  present,  that  they  might  now  go  to  the  Heath 
with  perfect  safety.  The  visit  might  be  the  production  of 
much  good ;  his  lordship  would  see  for  himself,  and  would, 
no  doubt,  be  pleased  to  find  so  many  evidences  of  improve- 
ment. 

"By  the  by,"  said  Mr.  Vanscourt,  "this  intended  visit 
reminds  me  of  another  singular  contradiction  which  our 
translators  must  have  overlooked,  and  which  our  com- 
mentators have  as  yet  failed  to  reconcile.  We  are  inform- 
ed that  an  august  personage,  with  his  attendance,  being 
once  on  his  way  to  Sodom,  to  see  for  himself  whether  that 
city  was  as  bad  as  had  been  represented,  entered  the  tent 
of  Abraham  on  the  plains  of  Mamre ;  conversed  face  to 
face  with  Abraham,  and  Sarah,  his  wife;  had  his  feet 
washed,  and  partook  of  cakes,  milk,  butter  and  veal- 
refreshments  £!et  before  him ;  and  yet,  in  another  place,  we 
are  told  that — '  No  man  hath  seen  God  at  any  time  ' — that 
no  man  can  see  him  and  live — '  Whom  no  man  hath  seen, 
or  can  see.'  Verily,  my  lord  and  Reverend  gentleman, 
this  is  a  singular  contradiction ;  and  I  would  respectfully 
suggest,  that  those  learned  and  pious  men  now  engaged  in 
a  fresh  revision  of  the  Bible,  should  try  and  reconcile 
these  conflicting  statements,  or  else  alter  the  text,  as  you 
know  it  was  common  to  do  in  other  days ;  otherwise,  we 
may  expect  a  fresh  brood  of  skeptics  every  year,  who  will 
reason  and  reason,  until  they  make  most  people  believe 
that  religion  is  but  superstition,  and  that  our  apostolic 
authority  but  mere  empty  pretension." 

"  Now,  Vanscourt,"  replied  his  lordship,  "  if  our  visit  to 
this  modern  Sodom  is  likely  to  be  attended  with  danger, 
you  had  better  suggest  an  humble  prayer,  rather  tlian 
raise  another  skeptical  hobgoblin  to  frighten  us  away  from 


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101 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HFATH. 


our  true  faith.  "We  want  no  more  emeniations ;  we  have, 
I  fear,  conceded  too  much  altogether.  The  Bible  as  it 
stands  is  well  able  to  take  care  of  itself  without  any  of 
your  suggested  expurgations.  But  we  must  go  among 
these  wild  people.  I  think  it  is  our  duty,  particularly 
now  that  there  is   little  danger." 

Mr.  Meade  re-assured  his  lordship,  and  stated  that  by 
starting  at  once  they  could  be  all  safely  back  by  dusk. 

The  bright  sunlight  of  an  early  autumn  afternoon 
spread  its  radiance  over  the  wide  plain,  and  the  well  defin- 
ed shadows,  scattered  here  and  there,  added  nearly  as 
much  to  the  rural  scenery  as  the  light  that  rested  upon  the 
waving  branches,  or  that  flickered  among  the  restless 
leaves  of  the  scattered  trees.  Kuminating  cattle  rested  in 
the  shade,  or  stood  at  leisure  by  the  road  side,  quiet  flocks 
fed  or  lay  on  green  spots  in  the  distance,  and  the  white- 
washed cabins — not  the  rude,  wretched  abodes  that  they 
once  were— seemed  to  smile  a  welcome  to  the  visitor,  while 
tidy  looking  women,  surrounded  by  playing  children,  sat 
with  plying  needle  on  the  door-steps.  Far  and  near  in  every 
direction  a  number  of  men  were  ploughing,  and  leveling, 
and  fertilizing  the  long  neglected  soil.  The  deep,  muddy 
pits  and  ditches  had  been  filled  up,  piles  of  brick  and  rub- 
bish had  been  removed,  the  long,  unsightly  sheds  had 
been  torn  down,  and  much  of  the  material  used  in  order 
to  make  the  dwellings  more  capacious  and  comfortable. 
The  chapel  had  been  turned  into  a  neat  schoolhouse  which 
was  well  attended,  the  "Rook's  Nest"  had  been  demol- 
ished, and  the  "Bull  Dog"  had  been  well  cleaned  and 
repaired,  and  was  now  a  kind  of  store  house  containing 
tools,  implements,  necessary  supplies,  etc.,  such  as  might 
be  required  by  a  busy  agricultural  population.  What  a 
change  within  one  year!  There  were  no  half  drunken 
loiterers  to  be  found,  none  such  watching  or  waiting  to 
rob  or  abuse  a  stranger,  no  cruelty  to  animals,  no  brutal 
fights,  no  overworked  women  or  hungry,  suffering  child- 
ren to  be  longer  seen ;  all  seemed  to  be  buoyed  up  with 
hope  and  confidence  in  the  kind  encouragement  of  one 


\mj 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


159 


man,  and  all  seemed  ready  and  willing  to  remain  and 
trust  in  him.  So  far  only  two  persons  had  become  dissat- 
isfied, Tom  Slaughter  and  Ned  Hogg,  the  once  thriving 
landlords— one  of  the  Rook's  Nest  and  the  other  of  the 
Bull  Dog— they  saw  nothing  but  ruin  to  them  in  the 
changed  condition  of  affairs,  and,  as  they  could  not  be 
induced  to  stay,  they  had  left  the  i)lace  in  disgust,  never 
to  return. 

On  this  pleasant  afternoon  the  most  tame  or  sombre 
scenery  would  lose  its  gloom  ;  the  steady  improvement  of 
this  part  of  the  Mayston  estate,  in  so  short  a  period,  made 
the  once  desolate  Heath  look  cheerful  and  inviting,  and 
as  the  bishop  of  Storkchester  and  his  clergymen  were 
driven  slowly  across  the  wide  plain,  he  was  surprised  to 
find  it  so  different  from  that  which  he  had  expected.  His 
lordship's  carriage  took  the  lead ;  no  wild  mob  threatened, 
no  one  with  felonious  intent  crossed  his  path.  Those 
working  on  either  side  merely  paused  to  look  after  the 
carriages  as  they  passed  along,  and  then  quietly  resumed 
their  labor.  Harry  Tamblin,  who  was  now  a  kind  of  over- 
seer on  this  part  of  the  estate,  happened  to  recognize  the 
Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  and  he  civilly  offered  to  conduct  the 
gentlemen  about  the  plain  and  show  them  what  improve- 
ments had  been  already  made,  and  what  were  contemi)la- 
ted,  Mr.  Meade  expressed  his  thanks,  but  told  him  he 
need  not  leave  his  business.  Upon  inquiry  for  Mr.  Valiant 
he  was  told  that  that  gentleman  was  then  in  Ireland  ;  and 
though  he  had  been  absent  from  the  estate  for  more  than 
a  month,  things  went  on  with  as  much  regularity  as  if  he 
were  present.  Every  man  seemed  inclined  to  do  all  in  his 
power  to  second  the  efforts  of  his  generous  benefactor,  and 
it  was  a  pleasure  to  witness  the  earnest  endeavors  all 
made  to  break  up  the  hardened  surface  of  the  land,  and  to 
make  mellow  and  enrich  the  callous  soil  in  which  their 
hearts  lay ;  and  in  which  they  now  felt  that  they  already 
had,  for  the  first  time,  the  sacred  natural  right  of  owner- 
ship. Harry  Tamblin  seemed  specially  pleased  at  the 
confidence  reposed  in  him  by  Mr.  Valiant,  and  to  ail 


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160 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m  'lf 


appearance,  the  greatest  union  and  harmony  prevailed 
among  those  sturdy  laborers,  who,  scarcely  a  year  back, 
were  dreaded  by  nearly  all,  as  villains  and  outlaws,  and 
despised  by  their  so-called  civilized  neighbors. 

Strange  as  it  may  be,  the  rector  of  Betnall,  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Rockett,  felt  rather  disappointed  and  irritated  to  think 
that  so  little  notice  was  taken  of  himself,  of  the  bishop,  or 
of  any  of  the  clergymen  present.  A  few  civil  words  had 
been  spoken  to  Mr.  Meade,  but  nothing  approaching  an 
insult  had  been  offered  to  the  now  defiant  rector,  who 
really  expected  —  even  almost  hoped — that  he  and  his 
friends  might  be  mobbed  or  otherwise  maltreated ;  they 
were  not,  as  yet,  even  treated  with  contempt,  nothing 
more  than  ordinary  indifference,  an  indifference  that  was, 
at  the  time,  more  galling  to  the  pride  of  the  rector  than 
a  direct  indignity.  He  was  really  amazed  to  find  that  his 
predictions  concerning  the  people  of  the  Heath  were  not 
verified,  and  at  the  moment  he  would  have  been  better 
pleased  had  a  dozen  drunken  ruffians  waylaid  the  bishop 
and  clergy  then  and  there,  rather  than  they  should  return 
favorably  impressed  with  the  place  or  the  people. 

The  only  persons  on  the  Heath  not  seen  engaged  at 
hard  labor  were  a  few  gypsy  stragglers  vending  little 
articles,  or  mending  tin  ware  or  other  utensils  in  some 
by-place.  These  itinerants  reminded  the  bishop  of  what 
he  had  heard  of  the  gypsies,  and  he  at  once  expressed  a 
desire  to  visit  their  camp.  They  would  then  be  among 
real  heathens,  and  might  he  not  be  able  to  truly  assert 
that  this  excursion  was  one  of  a  missionary  character. 

In  a  short  time  they  reached  the  gypsy  camp.  These 
peculiar  people  still  preferred  to  live  by  themselves  in 
huts  and  tents ;  and  as  the  new  owner  of  the  estate  was 
very  kind  to  them,  they  seemed  to  be  perfectly  content 
with  their  manner  of  life.  The  bishop's  carriage  stopped 
in  front  of  the  principal  tent ;  Zingari's.  The  old  gypsy 
woman  wa:^  seen  sitting  under  the  shade  of  a  large  oak 
tree,  a  little  boy  stood  near  her ;  and  about  a  dozen  other 
gypsy  men  and  women  were  variously  occupied  around  a 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


161 


few  other  tents  close  by.  His  lordship  looked  down  with 
some  surprise,  from  his  seat  in  the  carriage,  at  the  suppos- 
ed queen  of  the  wild  race,  and  as  ho  thoujjht  this  was  a  fit 
oi»portunity  to  commence  his  first  missionary  exhortation 
he  addressed  her :  "Well,  dame,  we  have  come  out  here  to 
see  you,  just  to  see  you;  I'm  glad  we've  met.  You  havo, 
I  am  told,  lived  here  in  this  curious  way  for  a  long  time, 
yet  I've  never  seen  you  before— you  do  not,  I  suppose, 
know  who  I  am?" 

Zingari  was  dressed  in  her  usual  fashion;  she  was  al- 
most always  prepared  to  receive  visitors— for  she  was 
generally  much  sought  after— and  as  usual  she  was  knit- 
ting. She  seemed  quite  collected,  and  scarcely  looked  ui> 
at  the  new  comers. 

"  I  know  who  you  are,  and  we  have  t-veu  met  here 
before.'-' 

These  words  spoken  calmly  and  in  a  significant  tone, 
rather  surprised  most  oi"  the  clergymen  present. 

"Oh,  oh,— perhaps  so  "—replied  the  bishop,  "many  of 
course  know  me  whom  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  know  me  well,  and  will  never  forget  me,"  follow- 
ed Zangari  in  the  same  significant  manner. 

"  That  may  be,  that  may  be,  dame,  but  I  really  cannot 
at  present  think  who  you  are." 

"I  could  bring  a  matter  to  your  remembrance,"  said 
she,  "that  might  assist  you." 

"  You  probably  could,"  he  replied,  "  but  'tis  of  no  con- 
sequence, no  consequence ;  we  have  merely  come  here  as  a 
duty  to  give  you  our  best  advice  and  instruction." 

''Hear  him!"  .said  Zingari,  looking  around  at  her 
gypsy  companions,  "who  wants  either  your  advice  or 
your  instruction,"  and  her  words  had  a  scornful  meaning. 

"Well  perhaps  you  do,"  continued  the  bishop,  now 
determined  to  do  actual  missionary  duty,  "perhaps  you, 
dame,  and  your  friends  here  might  listen  to  our  message 
and  be  benefited,  you  are  very  old,  very  old  indeed,  and 
cannot  expect  to  live  much  longer.  You  and  your  people 
are  very  superstitious,  and  you  yourself,  I  am  told,  have 


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162 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  IHE  HEATH. 


'M  If 


practised  on  the  credulous ;  and  without  using  a  harsh 
expression,  you  have  taken  money  from  poor  people  for 
fortune-teliing.  Now  my  good  dame,  this  is  wrong,  very 
wrong,  for  which  the  Almighty  will  hold  you  answerable. 
We  now  wish  you  to  reform;  we,  as  God's  messengers, 
would  pray  you  to  abandon  your  error,  and  accept  truth." 
The  bishop's  manner  was  calm  and  confident,  and  his 
seoming  sincerity  won  looks  and  nods  of  pious  approval 
from  nearly  every  one  of  his  clerical  attendants. 

The  loud  laugh  of  the  old  gypsy  woman  startled  all 
present;  even  two  or  three  of  the  gypsy  men  sprang  up 
and  ran  toward  her,  scarcely  knowing  what  they  did. 

His  lordship's  look  was  one  of  blank  amazement,  and 
when  he  saw  the  woman  stately  and  erect,  with  outstretch- 
ed arms  before  him,  he  instinctively  shrank  back  into  the 
corner  of  his  carriage,  as  if  anticipating  an  immediate 
attack. 

"God's  messenger!  "  she  exclaimed,  and  her  mocking 
laugh  could  now  be  heard  away  out  on  the  Heath,  **0! 
what  vile  assurance!  what  audacity  to  come  here  to  see 
me  on  such  an  errand !  Do  I  not  know  you,  you  prince  of 
hypocrites,  you  arrant  impostor?  Do  I  not  know  ye  all, 
you  race  of  devouring  wolves  ?" 

"Silence!  you  infernal  old  wretch,"  now  roared  out 
Parson  Kockett.  The  bishop  quickly  raised  his  hand,  and 
with  nervous  gesture  waved  it  rapidly,  as  if  most  anxious 
to  keep  the  excited  rectv>r  quiet. 

"I  will  speak  here,  with  the  heavens  above  me,"  con 
tinned  Zingari,  "I  did  not  ask  you  to  come,  and  now  you 
shall  listen.  Did  you  come  here  to  have  me  accept  your 
stale  plagiarisms  for  truth  ?  Would  you  bring  me  doc- 
trines as  original  that  were  old  to  my  race  ten  thousand 
years  before  the  time  of  your  reputed  Moses  ?  You  have 
robbed  our  Vedas  to  form  your  creed.  You  have  got  your 
Old  book  and  your  New  book— the  Bible— a  thing  of  yes- 
terday ;  both,  as  you  i-ry  to  believe,  inspired.  Inspired  ? 
Why,  they  have  not  even  the  merit  of  novelty.  Your  old 
book  is  full  of  our  ancient  rites  and  ceremonies ;  your  new 


At 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


163 


book  is  but  a  re-hash  of  our  doctrines ;  our  Christna  is 
your  Christ ;  and  your  new  fangled  creed  of  eighteen  hund- 
red years  is  yet  unknown  to  tliree-fourths  of  mankind,  and 
even  rejected  in  the  very  land  of  its  birth,  and  is  so  like 
ours  that  you  have  dared  to  assert,  contrary  to  plain  facts, 
that  ours  is  taken  from  yours.  You  talk  to  me  of  truth — 
t  hat  which  you  have  never  sought  for.  You  all  chatter 
back  like  magpies  the  few  words  you  have  Ip*  u  n  id  from 
your  grandfathers,  and  you  do  not  look  furth'  ?~-you  daro 
not  hear  both  sides—'twould  be  your  destructi  n." 

The  excited  rector  of  Betnall  was  again  about  to  make 
a  sharp  reply,  but  was  prevented  by  a  sudden  look  from 
the  bishop,  who  now  felt  somewhat  reassured,  and  he 
anaiii  addressed  his  venerable  opponent: 

"Dame,  you  are  far  too  hasty,  too  hasty;  we  have  the 
truth,  of  this  we  are  assured.  We  do  not  want  to  argue 
with  you ;  but  what  have  you  done  to  gain  true  knowledge  ? 
We  are  confident  that  our  religion  is  not  a  thing  of  yester- 
day." 

"  O,  yes,  you  are  confident  because  it  is  popular  herea- 
bouts; you  are  assured  of  its  truth  because  it  gives  you 
])aying  ijositions.  You  don't  want  to  argue  because  your 
priestly  presumption  could  be  no  gainer.  No,  you  would 
j>refer  to  lock  up  thought  and  put  the  key  in  your  pocket ; 
but  this  is  what  1  have  done  to  gain  some  knowledge.  I 
nave  read  that  paper  idol  of  yours  from  beginring  to  end- 
iu</,  from  Genesis  to  Kevelation,  yes,  every  word,  and 
what  \n  it  ?  But  a  mere  scrap  book  from  our  ancient  creed. 
N'>w,  have  you  ever  read  oar  Vedas  ?  " 

"  I  cann</f.  say  that  I  have,"  replied  the  bishop.  **  But, 
damo,  a  dis<  tih*',ii>n  of  this  kind  is  unseemly;  ycu  are  too 
positive  in  your  error." 

"Am  I?  And  wiiat  has  yours  been  so  far  but  a  life  of 
vilrness  and  pretension  ?  You  tell  me  I  cannot  live  long; 
but  hear  me.  Old  as  I  am,  I  shall  survive  you ;  your  days 
will  soon  be  nuinb(irc<j , "  Here  the  bishop's  cheek  was  8e6n 
to  blanch.  "You  tell  me  tliat  I  have  practised  on  the 
credulous,  and  have  taken  from  the  poor;  yet,  poor  as  I 


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164 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


hi      |« 


i  ■ 


am,  the  little  which  I  have  privately  given  might  count 
equal  to  your  own  ostentatious  alms.  But  on  whose  cre- 
dulity have  you  practised  ?  What  have  you  been  doing  ? 
Is  not  year  trade  a  deception,  only  submitted  to  because 
it  is  popular  here  in  Europe  ?  You  are  servile  to  a  myth 
because  it  brings  you  money;  and  servile  priests  have 
made  a  servile  people.  If  I  have,  as  you  say,  taken  money 
from  the  poor,  whether  I  have  given  value  or  not  is  best 
known  to  those  who  have  dealt  with  me.  But  what  have 
you  !,dven  to  rich  or  to  poor  for  what  you  have  taken  for 
your  soothsaying  ?  What  a  wolfish  conscience  you  have 
to  accept  the  pile  of  gold  that  you  get  every  year,  while 
thousands  of  your  fellow  creatures,  even  more  worthy  than 
you.  are  houseless  and  starving ;  but  I've  been  only  a  com- 
mon fortune  teller.  What  were  your  prophets  but  such, 
whose  predictions  have  never  yet  been  fulfilled?  Ah, 
Thomas  Sumpter,  apostolic  knave,  I  know  you  well,  and 
all  the  conscience  or  honor  that  you  ever  possessed  might 
be  hidden  in  a  poppy  flower." 

"Now  you  deal  in  falsehoods,"  quickly  retorted  the 
Bishi-ip,  getting  rather  pngry.  '*  Woman  I  know  you  not ; 
you  linow  nothing  of  me." 

"  Do  I  not  ?  I  know  you  and  all  your  race.  Do  I  not 
know  those  hireling  expounders  of  godliness,  whose  ob- 
trusive cunning  stalks  about  in  the  guise  of  simplicity  ? 
Whose  cupidity  is  fed  by  the  ostentatious  doling  out  of 
pence  to  the  poor  in  the  presence  of  the  wealthy;  who  rai! 
against  riches  in  order  to  become  rich,  who  pray  for  hu- 
mility in  order  to  obtain  power,  who  are  weak-kneed  where 
there  is  danger,  and  formidable  where  there  is  mo  foe,  and 
who  are  sycoj-thantic  to  tyrants,  and  arrogant  to  tht- 
oppressed?  O  ye  meek  wolves!  ye  affectionate  vultures ! 
O,  ye  would  be  lords  of  heaven  and  of  earth,  what  a  world 
this  would-be  were  ye  possessed  of  unlimited  jK-wer  ?  " 

"■  Vile  woman,  your  mouth  should  be  stopped, "exclaim- 
ed the  bishop. 

"Ay,  that's  yowr  pl*n;  tltti^  ^swnr  fevorile  mode  of 
argument;  but  you  can't  ship  me     I  know  ye  too  well,  ye 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


ip,n 


canting  hypocrites  who  revel  in  deceit.  I  know  ye,  placirl 
schemers,  who  proclaim  toleration,  yet  fiercely  persecute, 
who  denounce  slavery,  yet  keep  the  mind  in  bondage.  O, 
ye  proud-unassuming,  ye  humble-arrogant  knaves,  ye 
specious  frauds  that  feed  man  upon  myths  which  many  of 
yourselves  reject!  O,  ye  race  of  sophistical,  consecra- 
ted impostors,  where  would  progress  be  if  left  to  your 
control?  see  what  confusion  you  have  wrought  by  your 
creeds  and  confessions ;  see  what  you  have  done  by  your 
prayers  and  your  pretensions.  O,  ye  living  lies  that  hoard 
up  gold  in  the  midst  of  poverty,  and  that  neglect  black 
crime  in  your  own  country  to  preach  repentance  in  for- 
eign lands.  O,  ye  beggars,  ye  plotters,  ye  pretenders,  ye 
evil  angels,  see  what  a  wreck  ye  have  altogether  made  of 
this  beautiful  world !    I  know  ye !  '* 

"Infamous,  unscrupulous  woman,"  retorted  his  lord- 
ship, "you  are  a  defamer;  you  know  nothing  of  us,  you 
know  not  one  pro-ent,  not  one."  and  now  the  heightening 
color  flushed  the  bishop's  face. 

Zingari  lixed  her  black  eye  on  him  for  a  moment  and 
then  slowly  said  :  '"Viper,  I  know  you  too  well — perhaps 
you  think  that  like  yourself  I  have  forgotten  Agnes." 

"Woman,"  said  he,  now  startled  and  angry,  "you  are 
an  impostor,  a  vile  wretch,  you  never  saw  her  face— never 
—I  know  not  of  whom  you  speak." 

'  Do  you  mot?"  repli»-l  she  calmly,  "Look  there  and 
see  if  you  c«n  recognize  any  one."  Zingari  then  walk- 
ed slowly  rc"  the  carriage ;  she  extended  her  right  arm 
so  as  to  bring  her  hamd  within  ten  or  '  vvelve  inches  of  the 
bishop's  face,  this  hand  was  partly  doubled  in  order  to 
hold  a  small  cizwrilKL'  mjrror  of  polished  steel  or  silver, 
aboiit  the  si«e  of  a  crown  piece :  the  face  of  this  little 
mirror  wae  sligh^lv  convex,  and  when  she  presented  it  to 
the  bi&lM»pith.:  lim  appearance,  similar  to  that  which 
the  brflftth  mi;.:  prod^ice  on  a  polished  surface.  The 
bishop"^  ^ves  st^med  to  rest  involuntarily  on  the  mirror ; 
presently  in  the  center  of  it  a  bright  spot  appeared 
which  pr^w  slowly  larger  and  larger  until  it  neared  the 


•  ,w 


•r% 


Hi 


&it!t 


i^4 


^11: 


106 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


1.  i 


I 

i 

I 
I 


edge  of  the  mirror,  and  then  the  bishop's  gaze  became 
intense  when  he  saw  what  seemed  to  be  the  reflection  of 
the  face  of  a  beautiful  gypsy  girl,  whose  age  might  he 
about  twenty  years.  The  face  had  a  very  wan,  sad  expres- 
sion, and  at  the  lower  corner  of  each  side  of  the  mouth, 
there  seemed  to  be  veritable  little  blood  marks;  and 
though  the  bishop  would  have  fain  withdrawn  his  eyes, 
he  still  gazed  and  now  actually  shuddered. 

"That's  a  fraud— another  of  your  impositions,"  cried 
out  Parson  Rockett  who  sat  beside  the  bishop,  "  I  can  see 
nothing,  neither  can  any  one.jlse,"  and  the  a  igry  rector 
snatched  the  mirror,  and  witlfa  hasty  fling  tried  to  send 
it  far  into  the  brushwood  where  it  never  should  be  found. 
He  then  turned  a  defiant  look  upon  the  old  gypsy  woman, 
and  was  himself  amazed  to  see  her  now  standing  a  few 
feet  distant,  and  holding  out  in  full  view  before  all,  the 
very  mirror  which  he  fancied  he  had  just  thrown  to  a  great 
distance. 

"This  doesn't  part  fromme  as  easily  as  you  imagine," 
said  Zingari  still  holding  out  the  mirror.  "If  I  am  an 
impostor,  you  will  admit  that  my  sleight-of-hand  is  sueh 
as  you  do  not  often  witness." 

Though  the  bishop  sat  silent  and  evidently  subdued, 
the  rector  of  P>etnall  grew  now  more  irritated,  and  tried 
to  believe  that  in  his  excitement  he  had  failed  to  get  hoM 
of  the  mirror,  and  he  demanded  that  it  should  be  placed 
in  his  hands  for  tlie  purpose  of  satisfying  all  that  he  could 
send  it  be> '  iid  the  reach  of  its  owner. 

"One  trial  must  answer,"  said  Zingari,  "  beware  how 
you  make  a  i  another  attemi)t." 

"Just  what  I  expected  you  would  do  if  put  to  the  test," 
shouted  Mr.  Rockett.  Two  or  inore  of  the  clergymen  now 
asked  to  see  the  mirror.  She  held  her  hand  before  the 
face  of  the  Rev.  Mr.  Morton  the  rector  of  Pendell,  but  the 
surface  of  the  mirror  was  quite  dim.  "  There  is  nothing 
for  you  at  present,"  said  Zingari,  "there  may  be  if  you 
ever  see  it  again." 

"Ay,  I  see  how  it  is,"  cried  Mr.  Morton,  "a  downright 


is. 


I 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


167 


deception !  You  have  imposed  on  his  lordship  as  you  have 
on  most  others.  You  work  on  people's  imagination,  and 
on  their  fears." 

Zingari  made  no  reply,  and  as  Mr.  l^eade  the  curate  of 
Pendell,  stood  close  to  her  she  bade  him  look.  The 
mirror  was  at  first  dim,  then  it  became  clear  as  it  did  for 
the  bishop,  and  lo,  the  curate  was  amazed  to  see  the  very 
likeness  of  his  son  who  was  in  India,  and  whom  he  had 
not  seen  for  years. 

**  Well,  is  that  a  deception  ?"  she  enquired. 

Mr.  Meade  felt  rather  timid  to  make  an  acknowledge- 
ment after  what  his  rector  had  asserted. 

"I  cannot  say  that  it  is,"  replied  he  in  a  hesitating 
manner. 

"And  yet  now  you  are  afraid  to  say  so,"  said  Zingari. 
"How  like  you  are  to  those  others;  just  as  Christian 
priests  always  do,  for  while  they  shout  for  truth,  they  are 
every  ready  to  deny  its  claims  should  it  come  into  conflict 
with  their  preconceived  notions." 

The  silence  of  the  curate  seemed  to  be  an  admission  of 
the  truth  of  what  she  had  said.  "  You  know  the  face 
then?" 

"  I  do,"  answered  Mr.  Meade. 

"Well,  then,"  she  continued,  "  you  have  got  another  at 
home,  but  be  watchful  of  your  bird,  for  there's  a  hawk 
around  your  dwelling  that  would  do  it  harm,"  and  she 
gave  a  significant  glance  at  the  rector  of  Pendell. 

"You  would  have  him  your  dupe  also  I  see,"  uttered 
Mr.  Morton  hastily.  "There,"  said  he  throwing  her  a 
small  silver  piece,  don't  fail  this  time— perhaps  you  can 
do  better  at  fortune  telling." 

Zingari  took  no  notice  of  the  money,  but  asked  him 
what  he  particularly  wanted  to  know. 

"Well, you  have  predicted  the  death  of  his  lordshii) — a 
shrewd  guess  by  the  by,  seeing  thu  we  are  not  all  immor- 
tal like  yourself— but  after  that  what  is  to  happen  ?" 

"Oh,  his  lordship's  great  funeral,  of  course,"  replied 
Zmguri. 


.     r 


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tpxt 


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:;:*.:,  »?»^' 

III*.;  tfi^' 

m  r 

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iiu:;.  .y. 

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il 


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II 


168 


THE  HC\THKN8  OP  THE  HEATH. 


,;i:h;rf 


"  Capital  '."said  Mr.  Morton  affecting  to  laugh,  **  capital 
guessing,  as  bishops  are  always  certain  to  have  great 
funerals.  "What  a  wonderful  seeress  to  predict  what  she 
knows  is  going  to  happen." 

"Just  as  your  greatest  so-called  prophets  have  always 
done,"  she  retorted. 

"Ay,  woman,  but  after  all  they  gave  us  some  shrewd 
particulars ;  try  your  hand  in  that  line ;  say,  for  instance, 
who  are  to  be  the  pall  bearers." 

"  You  will  not  be  one,"  she  quickly  replied. 

"  Well,  shall  I  not  be  among  the  mourners  ?  " 

"No,"  said  she,  "  not  unless  you  yourself  rise  from  the 
grave,  which  is  scarcely  probable." 

The  Rev.  Mr.  Morton  tried  to  laugh  at  this  capital  joke, 
but  somehow  the  laugh  stuck  in  his  throat,  yet  he  contin- 
ued, as  if  unabashed : 

"O,  of  course  you  always  like  to  bury  those  who  are  not 
your  dupes.  Well,  won't  you  promise  me  a  stately  fun- 
eral?" 

"  No,  not  even  the  burial  of  a  pauper,  for  you  will  never 
need  a  coffin." 

At  this  the  rector  of  Pendell,  in  spite  of  his  affected 
indifference,  was  really  startled. 

"Here,  you  old  Jezebel!  "  now  shouted  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Rockett,  "  you  have  quickly  disposed  of  one  bishop  and 
one  rector;  save  your  favors  for  others;  there  are  three 
or  four  more  of  us  here,  yet.  I  suppose  I  shall  die  also— 
what  then  ?    Don't  hurry  me  off  too  soon." 

"Ah,  you  think  that  would  be  a  safe  prediction  for  me," 
said  Zingari.  *'  Well,  we  will  not  hurry  you  off,  you  will 
survive  the  other  two,  but  die  you  must ;  aye,  unexpectedly 
before  your  time." 

"Well,  but  you  will  bury  me  decently,  won't  you?" 
l!i<iuired  he  in  a  mocking  tone." 

"Bury  you?  ah  me,  nol  You  will  have  no  coffin,  you 
will  have  no  funeral— for  you  will  never  need  even  a 
grave." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


THE  ISLAND  OF  SAINTS. 


A  S  soon  as  John  Valiant  had  made  arrangements  for  the 
'^^  restoration  o£  the  old  Man  jr  House,  for  the  i  m  |  )ro vc- 
ment  of  the  land  and  cottages  on  the  Heath,  and  for  tlio 
present  employment  and  benefit  of  the  poor  inhabitants 
on  that  portion  of  his  estate,  he  resumed  his  search  after 
his  son ;  and  he  landed  in  Ireland  during  the  first  day  of 
J  uly  determined  to  make  a  thor<  )ugh  search  i  n  that  country 
in  the  hope  of  being  able  to  return  either  accompanied  by 
the  object  of  his  solicitude  or  posessed  of  some  certain 
knowledge  concerning  him.  During  the  few  months  of 
his  stay  in  England,  he  had  made  inquiries  not  only  at 
the  several  Mission  Houses,  buL  in  many  other  places, 
and  he  had  also  employed  trusty  agents  to  try  and  gain 
such  information  as  might  be  most  likely  to  render  his 
journey  successful.  Any  way,  though  still  much  depressed 
the  news  he  had  obtained  through  certain  sources,  enabl- 
ed him  to  start  afresh  more  hopeful  than  he  had  been  for 
many  a  day. 

Were  a  person  desirous  of  tracing  out  on  a  map  of  the 
world,  a  land  that  had  been  devastated  by  religious  strife, 
and  still  cursed  by  the  demon  of  religious  discord,  he 
might  look  through  Asia,  that  primitive  source  of  relig- 
ious ideas,  he  might  enter  India  and  course  along  the 
Indus,  or  the  Ganges,  and  thence  thiough  China  and 
Japan,  and  find  men  worshiping  at  different  altars,  or 
bowing  before  different  shrines,  and  yet  not  be  inclined  to 


3KJ 


II  > 


■M 


m 


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53 


rr 
mill 


lit":. 


i: 


i:3Ei 

1*1        V  < 

ii%i  sai^. 


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lit: 


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170 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


)]«;:_   .^ 

J^fc 

H 

■ 

i- 

l 

1 

Im 

s 

1^ 

i,     'taw 


hate  or  harass  one  another  because  that  Brahma,  or 
Buddha,  orChristna,  or  some  other  deity,  was  the  obJecL 
of  adoration.  He  would  find  that  the  maxims  of  Confucius 
inculcated  a  reverence  for  the  religious  opinions  of  stranj,'- 
ers  ;*  and  that  even  in  Africa,  where  it  is  said  the  greatest 
supevstition  still  abounds,  not  one  of  the  ancient  temples 
or  vast  siruriures  which  stud  the  course  of  the  Nile, 
and  indicate  the  past  greatness  of  Egypt,  was  ever  erect- 
ed to  serve  as  an  Inquisition.  In  these  so-called  be- 
nighted lands  where  the  great  majority  of  mankind— the 
still  unchristianized— are  huddled  together,  or  classified 
into  castes,  the  powerful  and  prevailing  influence  of 
Paganism  has  ever  been  averse  to  religious  persecution ; 
and  not  until  the  inquirer  has  passed  into  Europe,  not 
until  he  has  entered  the  very  stronghold  of  that  superior 
Faith  for  which  is  claimed  every  excellence,  not  until  ho 
has  reached  lands  eminently  Christian,  can  he  truly  dis- 
cover the  terrible  effects  of  bigotry  and  religious  persecu- 
tion. 

Strange  that  this  should  be  the  case,  but  history  will 
not  belie  the  assertion.  Look  at  the  map.  Oh!  what  a 
contrast  between  Pagan  Rome  in  the  Augustan  age,  and 
papal  Rome  under  a  Gregory,  an  Alexander,  or  an  Inno- 
cent! See  Spain,  almost  wholly  devoted  to  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church,  degraded  by  its  intolerance,  and  its 
Inquisition;  and  the  government  miserably  enfeebled  by 
the  dictation  of  priests.  Portugal  is  much  in  the  same 
condition.  France  has  been  rendered  restless  and  revolu- 
tionary, as  much  perhaps  by  its  bigoted,  intermeddling 
ecclesiastics,  as  by  its  intriguing  rulers,  or  its  insignificant 

*  "  Amonpr  the  Chinese  it  is  customary  to  ask,  *  To  what  sublime 
religion  do  you  belong?'  One  perhaps  will  call  himself  p.  Confucia- 
nist,  another  a  Boodhist,  a  third  a  disciple  of  Lao-tze,  a  fourth  a  fol- 
lower of  Mohammed,  of  whom  there  are  many  in  China,  and  then 
every  one  begins  to  pronounce  a  panegyric  on  the  religion  to  which 
be  does  not  belong,  as  politeness  requin.'S ;  after  which  they  all  repeat 
in  chorns,' Pow-town-Kiao,town.-ly,  religions  are  many ;  reason  is 
one ;  we  are  all  brothers.'  This  phrase  is  on  the  lips  of  every  Chinese, 
and  they  bandy  it  from  one  to  the  other  with  the  most  exquisite  ur- 
banity,"—Hue's  Jtturney  through  the  Chaiese  empire,  Cap.  V. 


«• 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


171 


minority  of  Huguenots.  Austria,  and  Italy,  havo  jnstbo.tjun 
to  see  tliat  the  antiquated  notion  of  a  one  true  cliuii'li 
has  left  tliem  far  behind  in  the  march  of  iniprovomont; 
and  that  toleration  is  at  last  necessary.  If  this  ido:«  of  a 
"  one  Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism,  and  one  true  church  " 
so  steadfastly  adhered  to  in  countries  exclusively  Roniuii 
Catholic,  has  produced  such  degeneration,  how  is  it  in  a 
country  where  Protestants  and  Catholics,  come  into  tlread 
conflict;  where  a  so-called  heretical  faith  has  been  urged 
on  the  majority,  where  wrangling  Protestant  sects  only 
truly  unite  in  hostility  to  the  papal  Church  and  where 
added  to  this  hostility  political  and  national  wrongs  tend 
to  aggravate  and  perpetuate  the  hatred  that  has  already 
existed  for  centuries  ?  Now  where  in  a  map  of  this  wide 
world  can  a  land  be  found  so  cursed  and  blighted  ? 

There  is  a  beautiful  island  in  the  Atlantic,  long  renown- 
ed for  its  majestic  mountains,  its  lovely  valleys,  its  romantic 
glens,  its  splendid  lakes,  its  pleasant  rivers,  and  its  clear 
streams.  A  fair  island,  as  if  nature  had  been  determined 
to  exhibit  an  epitome  of  its  richness  and  beauty,  a  green 
spot  raised  in  the  midst  of  the  blue  waves,  with  glorious 
scenery,  fertile  soil,  and  a  healthful  climate ;  with  verdant 
slopes,  with  rocks,  roses,  and  waterfalls,  and  every  attrac- 
tion to  make  it  an  earthly  paradise;  and  yet  this  very 
island  richly  endowed  as  it  is  by  the  great  munificent 
Hand,  has  been  made  nearly  desolate  by  man ;  and  relig- 
ious and  political  strife  has  swept  through  it,  and  over  it 
like  a  very  besom  of  destruction.  This  island  so  beauti- 
ful, so  blighted,  and  so  bereft ;  this  land,  such  a  reproach 
to  its  Popes,  and  potentates,  this  arena  of  fearful  pious 
and  political  discord,  can  alas !  be  traced  out  on  the  map 
as— Ireland. 

This  then  was  the  country  to  which  John  Valiant  had 
determined  to  proceed.  He  landed  in  Dublin  and  remained 
in  the  city  for  a  day  or  two  with  an  old  friend  whom  he 
iiad  known  in  India.  This  person  who  was  in  an  official 
position  in  the  Irish  caidtal  gave  him  much  information 
as  to  the  condition  of  the  country,  the  habits  of  the  people, 


i^         fe 


ii-i, 


-'  s: 


& 


•  \ 


172 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


C)  *  -^ 


and  vviiat  were  thon{,'ht  to  bo  the  main  causes  of  the  ron- 
tlDued  discontent  of  the  great  majority  of  t  hf  inhabitants. 
Ireland  was  still  very  much  disturbed ;  the  chronic  stato 
of  rebellion  in  which  it  had  been  for  centuries,  still 
required  the  presence  of  a  large  number  of  troops,  and 
these,  with  priests,  parsons,  and  policemen,  and  numerous 
ragged,  hungry  looking  creatures  wandering  through  the 
streets  were  the  most  common  and  striking  objects  that 
met  the  eye  of  a  stranger.  How  different  from  what  one 
should  expect!  Here  was  a  land  which  might  be  the 
happy  home  of  millions,  but  from  which  thousands  annu- 
ally rush  as  if  from  a  plague  stricken  country — it  is  a 
stricken  country— it  has  been  blighted  by  sectarian  strife ; 
and  in  every  phase  of  misfortune  that  has  befallen  this 
unhappy  island,  religious  plotting,  and  religious  discord 
can  be  tracol  as  the  root  of  the  evil.  Here  for  a  long 
period  was  c.  i)ampered  State  Church— now  happily  dis- 
established— representing  but  a  fraction  of  the  population, 
yet  reveling  in  wealth  and  pretension ;  which  for  long 
years,  and  in  its  palmiesi;  days,  was  rapacious  enough  to 
exact  tithes  from  the  great  bulk  of  the  inhabitants  who 
were  of  a  hostile  belief — the  Koman  Calliolic  majority, 
then,  and  still,  the  most  destitute  class  of  Irish— and  on 
whom  it  tried,  often  by  the  vilest  means,  to  force  a  detested 
creed,  a  church  which  would  still  continue  to  exact  the 
last  penny  from  the  very  people  who  hated  its  doctrines, 
were  it  not  for  the  cry  of,  "  shame,  shame,"  which  startled 
at  last  even  an  indolent  majority  in  the  British  Parliament 
to  a  sense  of  simple  justice.  And  then,  when  this  very 
church  was  deprived  of  this  infamous  right  to  directly 
assess  Irish  Roman  Catholics,  (as  it  has  assessed  Irish  and 
English  Dissenters,)  as  a  proof  of  its  reliance  on  Provi- 
dence, its  pusillanimous  meanings — such  as  it  lately  gave 
upon  its  disestablishment  in  Ireland— were  heard  through- 
out the  land,  as  if  it  had  been  forsaken  by  God  and  man. 
But  though  the  Catholics  had  declaimed  long  and  loud 
to  a  Protestant  clergy  against  the  oppression  of  titlies  one 
might  assert  that  this  affliction  was  but  retributive  j  for 


«». 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THH   HEATH. 


173 


their  own  Church  claimed  tithes,  withoui  rtmorse,  in 
every  country  over  which  it  had  coutrol :  auJ  Pope  Inno- 
cent III.  was  among  the  first  to  esiabiiHli  this  odious  Jew- 
ish tax  on  all  alike  in  England;  and  his  decretal  was,  of 
course  equally  authoritative  in  Ireland.  Tlie.  English 
State  Church,  however,  such  as  it  was,  and  such  as  it  is, 
was  but  a  partial  evil  in  the  land.  The  lie  man  Catholics 
had,  and  still  have,  a  much  more  oppressive  burden  in  the 
support  of  the  ostentatious  form  of  faith  to  which  the> 
are  so  devotedly  attached.  If  Ireland  has  not  been  the 
actual  flower  garden  of  the  Roman  Church,  it  has  cer- 
tainly been  its  kitchen  garden,  and  while  the  numerous 
hierarchs  of  the  Popedom  have  flourished  and  fattened 
among  an  impoverished  people,  they  have  made  those 
same  people-  the  Roman  Catholic  Irish— their  veriest 
slaves.  The  Irish  Catholic  bishops,  though  ever  ready  to 
talk  in  lofty  strainn  about  patriotism,  have  never  yet  been 
too  faithful  to  their  own  (50untry.  They  declaim  against 
England,  yet  are  willing  to  accept  her  gold  and  her  favors, 
as  if  their  rights ;  they  are  willing  that  the  Irish  race 
should  remain  moderately  turbulent— a  thorn  in  the  fore- 
finger of  Britain  ;  they  are  willing  to  denounce  "  Saxon  " 
schools,  and  ''Saxon  "  innovations,  and  "  Saxon  "  civiliza- 
tion, but  yet  would  be  among  the  first  to  prevent  the  peo- 
plCj  whom-  they  had  gradually  trained  to  believe,  that 
resistance  to  tyrants  was  a  duty,  from  the  commission  of 
an  overt  act,  though  that  very  act  should  secure  for  all 
their  fancied  political  liberty.  Rome  has  ever  been  almost 
idolized  by  the  Irish  priesthood  •  and  Rome,  the  fanatic, 
that  would  prevent  a  Protestai  1 1  Bible,  a  Protestant  church, 
or  even  a  Protestant  cemetery  from  being  within  its  holy 
boundaries,*  is  exalted  as  the  model  of  truth  and  pro- 
priety for  all  nations ;  and  though  those  same  Irish  bishops 
well  know  that  the  submission  of  their  country  to  Eng- 
land is  the  result  of  the  machinations  of  a  veritab'i'  Pope, 
(Adrian  IV.,)  still,  as  if  oblivious  of  this  fact,  the  whole 

•  Bee  N.jte  8, 


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174 


THE  HKA.TUF,N8  OF  THK  HKATH. 


liearful  story  is  uot  told,  but  the  ontire  blame  is  placed  on 
others,  or  thrown  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  hated  Saxon. 

Alas  for  this  poor  island  1  the  rule  of  priests  has  secured 
for  it  an  unhappy  notoriety ;  and  traces  of  their  dej^ener- 
ating  pway  can  be  seen  in  the  faces  of  too  many  of  its 
people.  After  centuries  of  ecclesiastical  domination,  igno- 
rance and  superstition  prevail;  the  Irish  are  no  longer 
tho  teachers,  the  poets  and  the  musicians  of  Europe ;  their 
bards  are  all  but  forgolten,  and  their  har]>  almost  silent. 
O!  what  have  hostile  creeds  and  blind  faiths  done  for 
Ireland?  What  have  mitres,  and  crosiers,  and  spangles, 
and  lawn,  and  consecrated  gew-gaws  and  trumpery,  Cath- 
olic and  Protestant,  wrought  for  this  creed-cursed  country? 

Such  were  the  ideas  that  prevailed  in  the  mind  of  John 
Valiant  respecting  Ireland  ;  he  could  form  no  other  con- 
clusion than  that  this  land  of  which  he  had  heard  so 
much,  had  been  deplorably  misgoverned  for  centuries; 
and  that,  though  the  government  had  of  late  years,  been 
honestly  trying  to  better  the  condition  of  the  country, 
almost  every  effort  in  this  direction  had  been  interfered 
with  by  the  clergy,  principally  by  those  of  Rome.  The 
recital  of  the  political  sutTerings  of  Ireland  must  still  go 
on;  every  wound  must  be  made  to  bleed  afresh,  and  tho 
persecuted  Church  of  his  Holiness  must  be  exalted  as  the 
greatest  of  martyrs,  as  if  its  persecutions  of  heresy  were 
not  vastly  more  cruel  and  extensive  than  all  others.  No, 
nothing  should  be  torgotten  by  Catholic  priests ;  the  past 
should  never  die— they  would  never  see  a  single  hope ;  but 
while  England  ruled,  the  bleak  future  was  to  be  ushered 
in,  surrounded  by  the  blackest  thunder  clouds,  as  if  omi- 
nous of  continued  disasters  for  their  unhai^py  island. 

As  it  was,  Mr.  Valiant  found  that  the  people  were 
divided  into  sects  and  parties  too  prejudiced  to  reason,  and 
too  much  under  the  subjection  of  priestly  rulers,  to  dare 
think  for  themselves ;  and,  from  v/hat  he  saw,  he  could 
not  help  believing  that  if  it  had  been  the  policy  of  those 
in  authority,  civil  and  religious,  to  create  disunion  and  to 
engender  strife  among  a  naturally  kind  and  generous  peo- 


THE  HEATHKNS  UF  THE  HEATH. 


175 


pie,  they  hud  only  been  too  sueressful.  He  found  that 
after  prayers  and  penalties,  after  blessings  and  excommu- 
nications, after  a  lavish  distribution  of  "Acts  and  Epis- 
tles," and  acts  of  Parliament,  that  Ireland  was  still  vol- 
canic, still  ejecting  its  destructive  lava,  Hinging  its  burning 
S'^oria  far  and  near,  and  often  rendering  even  noon-day 
dismal  with  its  smoke,  its  ashes,  and  its  deadly  vapors. 

It  was  a  gala  day  in  Belfast,  a  great  number  of  people 
had  assembled  in  the  city;  flags  were  suspended  in  differ- 
ent places;  several  vessels  at  the  quays  had  hoisted  an 
unusual  quantity  of  bunting,  and  gaudy  banners  floated 
in  the  genial  air  over  certain  buildings,  and  a  few  hung 
gently  rufiBed  even  from  some  of  the  highest  steeples. 
Shouting  boys  displaying  blue  and  yellow  ribbons  tramp- 
ed here  and  there  through  the  streets;  and  men,  women, 
and  children  wandered  about  as  if  bent  upon  exhibiting 
ribbons  of  the  same  kind  tied  around,  or  fastened  to  hats, 
caps,  and  bonnets.  Even  most  of  the  sedate,  respectable 
business  men  as  they  went  along  wore  a  little  of  this  yel- 
low or  blue  ribbon  in  a  button  hole,  and  the  yellow,  or 
rather  the  orange  color,  seemed  on  this  particular  day  to 
be  so  prized  by  all,  that  few  persons  could  be  seen  who 
had  not  from  a  finger's  length  to  a  yard  or  two  of  t  his  kind 
of  ribbon  fastened  to  coat  or  hat,  as  if  it  were  a  token  of 
some  distinction.  On  ordinary  occasions  the  chief  town 
of  Protestant  Ulster  might  be  a  model  of  sobriety  and 
quietness,  but  on  this  day,  although  it  was  yet  the  early 
forenoon,  a  more  rampant,  noisy  number  of  pooi)le  could 
hardly  be  got  together;  and  it  is  questionable  whether 
strict  sobriety  could  have  engendered  the  wanton  enthu- 
siasm which  appeared  to  control  nearly  all.  Many  seem- 
ed to  act  as  if  there  had  been  granted  a  special  license  to 
be  as  boisterous  and  as  unruly  as  possible;  and  many 
others  went  strutting  about  with  defiant  look  and  rude 
bearing,  as  if  anxious  to  discover  an  opponent  on  whom 
to  exhibit  appropriate  vengeance.  To  make  things  more 
confused,  other  noises  besides  loud  shouting  were  almost 
continuous.     Shots  were   heard   within  the  respectable 


aa: 


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176 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ill 


■*   ^}, 


corporation  boundaries  of  the  city;  fire  crackers  rattled 
on  the  streets,  and  on  house  tops ;  the  constant  rat-a-tat- 
tat  of  little  drums  was  deafning,  and  that  which  was 
required  to  complete  the  most  bewildering  discord  was 
produced  by  shrieking  fifes,  whistles,  and  tin  trumpets, 
blown  in  every  direction  by  boys  whose  puffed  cheeks  gave 
evidence  of  a  determination  to  make  the  most  ear-piercing 
sounds  from  the  most  insignificant  of  instruments. 

A  short  time  before  mid-day  the  Dublin  train  reached 
the  Belfast  station ;  there  were  many  passengers,  several 
of  whom  rejoiced  not  only  in  a  profusion  of  blue  and  yel- 
low ribbons,  but  who  also  wore  peculiar  shaped  orange 
collars,  and  a  few  men  wore  a  kind  of  red  gown  which  gave 
them  a  most  absurd  and  slovenly  appearance.  One  indi- 
vidual, api)arently  some  kind  of  a  leader  or  official,  be- 
sides wearing  ribbouL,  a  collar,  and  a  rich  scarf,  had  also 
two  or  three  medals  fastened  on  his  breast.  He  was  a 
stout,  low-sized  man,  with  a  short  neck,  a  florid  face,  and 
something  of  the  vulgar  bully  in  his  appearance.  Indeed 
at  first  view,  one  even  reasonably  skilled  in  physiognomy 
might  wonder  how  such  a  man  could  do  any  act  that  would 
entitle  him  to  wear  any  medal  other  than  one  of  the 
most  poisonous  brass;  but  like  other  (so-called  heroes) 
he  might  have  won  them  because  he  was  a  partizan  who 
could  be  reckless  and  inhuman  against  political  or  relig- 
ious opponents.  He  had  evidently  been  expected,  for 
when  the  cars  stopped,  a  crowd  of  men  variously  bedizen- 
ed awpited  his  arrival,  and  when  he  stepped  from  the  car 
a  loud  shout  rent  the  air,  irregular  shots  were  fired,  little 
drums  rattled,  flags  were  waved  about  in  the  wildest  man- 
ner, and  two  or  three  bands  struck  up  a  medley  of  tunes, 
producing  a  poi  pourri  which  to  a  musical  ear  was  simply 
distracting. 

After  a  little  delay  this  distinguished  visitor,  who  prov- 
ed to  be  a  "deputy  j-rand"  something  among  the  Irish 
Orangemen,  entered  a  carriage  with  three  other  persons, 
a  long  processicni  was  formed,  the  bands  struck  up  again, 
banners  were  again  waved,  and  the  cortege  moved  ofif  from 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


177 


the  station.  This  w;is  the  great  12th  of  July,  a  day  more 
sacred  to  many  Orangemen  than  our  Christmas  is  to 
Christians.  The  anniversary  of  the  battle  of  the  Boyne 
was  again  to  be  celebrated,  Kin;^'  William  on  horseback 
— the  Orange  idol— was  once  more  to  be  flaunted  before 
the  eyes  of  the  incensed  Catholics;  an  old  feud  was  to  be 
offensively  brought  to  remembrance,  aided  even  by  some 
who  claimed  to  be  distinguished  as  ministers  of  a  religion 
of  peace ;  and  Protestantism  here  was  again  about  to  raise 
its  triumphant  head  in  proud  <lisdain  for  Pope  and  poi)ery, 
ready  to  pray  for  the  conversion  of  the  dupes  of  that  sys- 
tem, or  perhaps  more  ready  to  consign  them  to  infamy  ; 
willing  that  the  country  should  be  purged  of  their  pres- 
ence, and  that  Providence  might  be  further  honored  and 
glorified,  in  their  complete  banishment  or  annihilation. 

Mr.  Valiant  who  had  arrived  at  Belfast  by  the  same 
train,  was  rather  surprised  at  this  singular  demonstration. 
He  waited  quietly  at  the  station  until  nearly  all  had 
departed;  and,  as  every  vehicle  in  waiting  had  rolled 
away  hurriedly  filled,  he  threw  his  light  overcoat  across 
his  arm,  and  carrying  a  small  valise,  took  his  way  leisure- 
ly towards  the  principal  hotel.  As  he  went  along  he  dis- 
covered that,  for  some  reason,  he  was  the  object  of  much 
questionable  attention,  and  that  notwithstanding  the 
clatter  and  the  rush  of  people  that  had  taken  place  in 
their  desire  to  keep  near  the  principal  carriage,  many  per- 
sons stood  and  stared  at  him  as  if  he  had  been  an  unbap- 
tized  native  of  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Little  Protestant 
boys— for  they  wore  the  Orange  ribbon— were  so  rude  as 
to  yell  after  him  as  he  walked  on,  and  five  or  six  of  thcni 
followed  him  closely,  sometimes  rushing  in  front  of  him 
to  make  grimaces^  while  one  or  another  of  their  number 
would  be  violently  pushed  against  him ;  others  who  stood 
behind  kept  shouting,  "papist!  papist!  papist! "and  some 
actually  flung  mud  and  stones  at  him,  with  the  most 
lawless  intentions. 

Amazed  at  such  conduct,  and  really  astonished  that  no 
one  interfered  to  saveastraiiger  from  insult,  John  Valiant 


I'  ! 

1^: 


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178 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA^H. 


quickened  his  pace,  and  iiad  just  turned  ttie  corner  of  a 
street  wlien  he  came  face  to  Face  with  two  very  druu-kdi 
men  who  stood  in  front  of  a  kind  of  low  tavern*  The  :  !<'n 
wore  orange  collars,  and  had  a  i»rofusion  of  blue  .uid 
yellow  ribbons,  and  as  soon  as  they  perceived  the  strange 
person  before  them,  for  some  imuj^inable  cause,  they 
rushed  forward  as  if  to  lay  hold  of  him.  By  a  dexterous 
movement,  however,  he  just  escaped  their  clutches,  and 
as  he  passed  quickly  beyond  their  reach,  they  seemei  to 
grow  furious  and  between  the  stormy  oaths  and  imprf--a- 
tions  which  they  roared  in  anger,  the  Orangemen's 
blessing,  **To  hell  with  the  Pope,"  could  be  distinctly 
heard  until  he  turned  own  another  street  and  disap- 
peared. Under  the  impression  that  many  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  northern  Christian  city  were  more  savage  and 
uncivilized  than  any  of  the  wildest  heathens  he  had  ever 
met  in  foreign  lands,  he  began  to  feel  anxious  to  get  to  the 
hotel.  Not  a  policeman  was  in  view,  even  the  few  he  had 
seen  about  the  railroad  station  must  have  been  partisans, 
for  they  too  exhibited  a  portion  of  the  orange  in  a  button- 
hole,, If  he  asked  a  question  no  one  would  give  him  a  civil 
reply ;  even  the  very  women  either  laughed  at  his  appar- 
ent discomfiture,  or  soowlod  at  his  presence. 

He  made  some  inquiries  as  to  his  way  to  a  certain  part 
of  the  city,  but  he  must  have  been  wilfully  misdirected, 
for  he  soon  found  himself  wandering  through  the  most 
lUthy  streets,  where  every  second  or  third  house  seemed 
to  be  a  wretched  kind  of  groggery  or  beer  shop ;  and  in 
these  squalid  retreats  numbers  of  peoi)le  had  assembled. 
Their  beverage  must,  of  course,  have  had  its  due  effect, 
for  already  several  were  singing,  and  bawling,  id 
toasting  with  screaming  voice,  "The  glorious  piou  •  and 
immortal  memory."  Even  here  the  Orange  flags  and 
streamers  were  again  conspicuous,  and  maudlin  men  with 
glazeil  eye  and  clammy  lii),  reeled  along  the  highways 
singing  snatches  of  the  "  lioyne  Water,"  and  "Croj)i)ies 
Lie  Down,"  and  halting  occasionally  to  look  around  and 
dellantly  shmit,  "To  hell  with  the  Pope." 


TUE   HEATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


179 


As  it  was,  Mr.  Valiant  felt  somewhat  uneasy.    There  he 
was  apparently  in  the  most  disreputable  part  of  a  strange 
town,  among  a  drunken    ruffianly  set  who  were  ready  to 
insult,  or  to  lay  violen.  nands  on  him  without  the  least 
provocation.     But  this  was  his  mistake ;  he  had  unwit- 
tingly giving  offence ;    ho    had  without    his    knowledge 
exasperated  some  reckless,  excitable  men ;  and  just  as  a 
bull  might  be  made  furious  by  the  sight  of  a  red  shawl, 
the  mere  sight  of  the  light  green  silk  vest,  which  he,  John 
Valiant,  as  a  free-born  Briton,  wore  on  his  arrival  in  this 
good  Protestant  c;  \y,  and  which  so  raised  the  ire  of  certain 
of  its  i>ious  and  loyal  inhabitants,  had  nearly  cost  him 
his  life;  for  the  six  or  eight  villainous  fellows  who  now 
surrounded  him,  would   not  have    hesitated   to  commit 
any    atrocity    on   the    person   of  a  deliant  paptist — for 
such  they  took  him  to  be— were  it  not  for  the  prompt 
interference  of  a  gang  of  Catholic  workmen,  and  common 
laborers  who  just  happened  to  i»ass  at  the  time.    They 
understood  the  difficulty  at  once.    The  same  green  vest 
was  the  talisman  which   awoke   their   sympathies,  and 
aroused  them  to  action;  a  fight  quickly  ensued,  blows 
came  fast  and  heavy,  there  was  a  renewal  of  furious  strife 
between  the  Orange  and  the  Green.    The  Pope  was  again 
sent  to  hell — King  William  was  again  lustily  damned ; 
and  Luther  and  Calvin,  and  John  Knox,  consinged  again 
to  the  bottomless  pit.    During  tlie  melee,  John  Valiant, 
who  had  already  knocked  down  more  than  one  of  tli  > 
aggressors,  and  who  was  quite  willing  to  stand  by  his  new 
friends,  was  forced  away  from  the  spot  by  some  of  \\u 
ard-^nt  admirers.    They  looked  ui)on  him  as  being  a  brave 
eliampion  who  was  not  afraid  to  display  the  Green  even 
in  the  midst  of  a  vile  Orange  faction,  and  as  they  wished 
to  see  him  safe  they  conducted  him  to  one  of  the  [irincdpal 
streets.    His  liberal  reward  was  promptly  refused;  and 
with    hearty  repetitions  of    "God    l)es;    your    honor," 
resounded  in  his  ears,  he  hurried  on,  and  without  broken 
bones,  or  fuither  molestation,  soon  arrived  at  his  desired 
qiiaiters. 


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CHAPTER    XVIII. 


CUllISTIAN   HARMONY. 

^piIE  hotel  in  which  Mr.  Valiant  found  refuge,  was,  per- 
-*-  haps  the  principal  one  in  the  city,  and,  for  that  day 
at  least,  seemed  to  be  the  headquarters  of  the  Belfast 
Orangemen,  as  well  as  for  the  crowd  of  that  fraternity 
which  attended  from  a  distance.  A  great  Orange  flag 
waved  from  the  cupola  of  the  building ;  a  similar  banner 
was  hung  over  the  principal  entrance ;  and  sundry  other 
flags  and  streamers,  decorated  windows,  and  fluttered 
from  conspicuous  points  of  this  particular  rendezvous. 
Several  lodges  of  the  brethren  stood  in  w^aiting  along  the 
street,  and  a  greal  iniber  of  people  had  assembled  to 
witness  another  annual  display  of  ostentatious  loyalty. 

On  his  way  to  the  hotel,  Mr.  Valiant  had  to  pass  through 
nearly  this  entire  assemblage,  and  though  he  was  again 
stared  at  by  many,  and  heard  muttered  remarks  about  his 
"wearing  of  the  green,"  yet  those  hereabout  were  suffi- 
ciently discreet  to  refrain  from  coarse  language,  and  so 
far  orderly  enough  as  to  offer  no  offense.  Besides-  the  very 
fact  of  his  having,  as  a  traveler,  chosen  this  resort,  satis- 
fled  many,  that  though  he  had,  no  doubt,  thoughtlessly 
ventured  to  wear  on  this  great  day  a  disloyal  color,  he 
would  have  never  approached  such  a  place  unless  he  was 
"all  right." 

When  he  entered  the  botoi,  h-^  fuund  it  well  filled; 
several  of  the  prhicipal  magna.les  ot  'Mie  order"  had 
called  to  pay  their  rer.\>octs  tv>  I  he  '  t>  irMiy  Oraud  "  wor- 


•:  ;■■■ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


181 


J|««<4  M 


tliy,  who  had  boon  his  fuUow-pusseiiger  on  the  train  f  'om 
Dublin.  This  individual  was  in  one  of  the  largest  front 
rooms,  holding  a  kind  of  levee.  There  was  nothing  very 
dignified  in  the  proceeiling,  for  all  seemed  to  be  hilarious ; 
and  while  these  happy  fellows  were  making  arrangements 
for  the  grand  procession,  which  was  about  to  take  place, 
Mr.  Valiant  hastened  to  change  his  vest;  for,  from  what 
he  had  heard,  and  from  what  had  hat)pened,  he  now 
began  to  have  a  strong  suspicion  that  he  was  indebted  to 
the  color  of  that  article  of  his  ai)parel  for  the  singular 
attention  which  had  already  been  paid  to  him  since  his 
arrival  in  Belfast. 

It  had  been  arranged  that  the  procession  should  start 
by  noon  from  this  temporary  headquarters,  but  one 
thing  or  another  caused  delay,  and  it  was  over  an  hour 
before  everything  was  in  readiness.  By  that  time,  a  great 
many  people  were  standing  at  street  corners,  and  crowds 
lined  the  principal  thoroughfares  along  which  the  proces- 
sion was  expected  to  pass.  Spectators  could  be  seen  at 
every  window;  and  boys  who  had  climbed  lamp  posts, 
stood  watching  and  waiting  upon  these,  and  ui)on  any 
other  accessible  elevation  that  might  give  them  a  chance 
to  see  what  was  going  on. 

Besides  the  many  eager  sight-seers,  soldiers  could  be 
seen  drawn  up  in  certain  localities,  and  an  extra  force  of 
policemen,  distributed  here  and  there,  was  ready  for  any 
emergency.  It  had  also  been  rumored  that  a  great  body 
of  Catholics  had  determined  to  oppose  the  offensive  dis- 
play. Orangemen  had  been  riotous  and  violent,  and  had 
interrui'tod  the  late  Catholic  celebration  of  St.  Patrick's 
day.  The  annual  recurrence  of  Orange  demonstrations 
was  folt  by  the  Catholics  of  Ireland  to  be  not  only  uncalled 
for,  but  a  sore  cause  of  irritation— more  like  a  studied 
insult  than  a  desire  simply  to  perpetuate  the  "glorious, 
pious  and  immortal  memory "  of  King  William,  and 
which  insult,  if  the  Government  could  not  prevent  it> 
must  be  resented  at  any  cost.  As  it  was,  many  sensible, 
weli-meaning  persons,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  were  fully 


3il. 


I  f 


182 


THE  HEATUEN      OF  THE  HEATH. 


satisfied  that,  no  matter  wha,  necessity  might  have  called 
Orangeism  into  existence,  there  was  not  the  least  require- 
ment for  its  continuation — none  any  way  for  its  offensive 
public  displays ;  that  if  it  were  ever  a  protective  associa- 
tion, it  was  now,  in  fact  and  spirit  aggressive  and  unruly ; 
and,  from  a  common  sense  point  of  view,  must  be  adjudg- 
ed a  wanton  provocation.  As  a  secret  society,  it  had  done 
no  good ;  and  as  most  secret  societies  have  a  tendency  to 
make  weak  minds  enraptured  with  silly  mysteries,  to  make 
men  exclusive,  and  to  circumscribe  generous  impulses, 
the  Orange  association  in  particular  had  been  noted  for 
its  creation  of  furious  partisans,  many  of  whom  can  be 
almost  totally  blind  to  the  claims  of  reason  and  justice, 
when  called  upon  to  decide  in  the  interest  of  a  "brother,' 
or  in  that  of  the  so-called  "  loyal  organization." 

Nearly  a  century  ago,  when  rude  Protestant  mobs, 
called  "  Peep-o-day  Boys,"  used  to  assemble  at  the  early 
dawn  for  the  purpose  of  committing  agrarian  and  other 
outrages  upon  as  rude  a  mob  called  "  White  Boys,"  as  well 
as  upon  other  Catholics  who  were  united  in  opposition  to 
the  payment  of  tithes ;  when  Catholics  in  turn  united  and 
were  known  as  "Defenders,"  subsequently  as  "Kibbon- 
men,"  and  retaliated  on  Protestants,  when  collisions  and 
butcheries  were  of  daily,  or  rather  of  nightly  occurrence, 
the  whole  country,  especially  in  the  north,  was  the  scene 
of  violence  and  ruffianism  scarcely  ever  exceeded.  About 
the  time  when  it  was  felt  that  the  penal  laws,  long  strictly 
enforced  against  "papists"  had  been  greatly  relaxed; 
and  when  it  was  found  that  the  Irish  Catholics  had  become 
generally  more  disaffected  toward  English  rule,  it  was 
thought  important  to  make  the  union  of  Protestants  more 
influential.  Most  of  the  "  Peep-o-day  Boys  "  were  as  low 
and  as  brutal  in  their  instincts  as  it  was  i)ossible  for  any 
of  the  "White  Boys,"  or  the  "Defenders,"  to  be,  and 
very  few  beyond  this  class  of  Protestant  protectors  cared 
to  be  connected  with  such  a  body  as  these  "Peepers." 
However,  after  some  cogitation  and  planning,  '^•ertain  men 
of  reHi)o«'iability  and  position,  including  Protestant  minirf- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


183 


ters,  were  secured,  and  the  first  Orange  Lodge  was  found- 
ed in  the  village  of  Loughali,  in  the  county  of  Armagh, 
on  the  21st  of  September,  1795.  The  name  of  Orangeisra 
was  choaon  in  honor  of  William  III.,  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  the  association  had  branches 
in  every  part  of  the  Kingdom;  it  was  even  acknowledged 
by  Royalty,  for  the  Duke  of  Cumberland  became  the 
Grand  Master  for  England  in  1827. 

Previous  to  this  time  it  had  crept  into  the  array,  several 
regiments  having  had  warrnnts  for  holding  lodges ;  and  it 
infested  British  society,  not  only  in  the  United  Kingdom, 
but  in  many  of  the  British  colonics. 

At  first  Orangeism  was  said  to  represent  a  defensive 
association,  such  it  might  have  done,  but  what  has  it 
since  become?  Though  many  worthy,  well-meaning 
l)ersons  have  been  induced  to  enroll  themselve  under  its 
Danners,  many  others  upon  closer  acquaintance,  have 
readily  withdrawn.  The  Orange  organization  has  n»^t 
entirely  proved  itself  to  be  a  fraternity  to  secure  religious 
liberty,  and  to  check  lawless  intolerance  ;  it  has  itself  too 
often  become  lawless,  intolerant,  and  overbearing,  it  has 
not  been  a  union  of  the  most  intelligent,  the  most  orderly, 
or  the  most  peaceable,  but  frequently  the  refuge  of  too 
mttny  of  the  very  opposite  character;  too  often  a  mere 
political  stepping-stone  for  a  class  of  men  who  could  never 
obtain  either  office,  or  authority,  or  worthy  distinction  of 
any  kind,  outside  of  this  peculiar  association ;  and  who 
are  at  times  inconsistent  enough  to  denounce  the  Po])e  or 
to  serve  his  cause,  just  as  the  ])(>licy  of  political  leaders 
may  require,  for,  at  the  present  day,  it  may  be  fairly 
asserted  that  Orangeism  is  as  much  a  political  as  a  relig- 
ious orgianization. 

An  impartial  writer  in  an  article  on  Oran.neism  says: 
"  The  worst  result  of  the  Orange  association  was  the  con- 
stant incentive  which  it  supplied  to  party  animosities  and 
'leeds  of  violence.  In  the  north  of  Ireland  the  party  dis- 
plays and  processions  were  a  i)orpetualiy  recurring  source 
of  disorder^  and  even  of  bloodshed,  and  the  spirit  oi  ira- 


t- 

it' 

« 

.If 


;>:t  I  \ik 


"  •  m 


;-  I 


184 


TEE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HnATH. 


ternity  which  pervaded  its  members  was  a  standing  obsta- 
cle to  the  administration  of  the  law.  It  was  known  or 
believed  that  an  Oran,t?e  culprit  was  perfectly  safe  in  the 
hands  of  an  Orange  jury ;  and  all  confidence  in  the  local 
administration  of  justice  by  magistrates  was  destroyed. 
These  facts,  as  well  as  an  allegation  which  was  publicly 
made,  of  the  existence  of  a  conspiracy  to  alter  the  succes- 
sion of  the  crown  in  favor  of  the  Duke  of  Cumberland,  led 
to  a  protracted  parlimentary  inquiry,  as  well  as  a  very 
shocking  outrage  peri)etrated  soon  afterward  by  an  armed 
body  of  Orangemen  on  occasion  of  a  procession  in  Ireland 
tended  so  much  to  discredit  the  association,  and  to  awaken 
the  public  mind  to  a  sense  of  the  folly  and  wickedness  of 
such  associations,  that  its  respectability  has  since  that 
time  gradually  diminished.  So  great  was  the  popular  dis- 
trust of  the  administration  of  justice  in  party  questions, 
that  for  several  years  the  Lord  Chancellor  laid  down  a 
rule,  by  which  no  member  of  the  Orange  association  was 
admitted  to  the  commission  of  the  peace ;  and  althougli 
the  association  still  exists,  it  is  comparatively  without 
influence,  except  among  the  very  lowest  classes  in  the 
north  of  Ireland.  Of  the  colonial  offshoots  of  the  Orange 
association,  those  of  Canada  have  at  all  times  been  the 
most  active  and  the  most  floarishing.  The  Canadian 
Orangemen  being  for  the  most  part  Irish  emigrants,  car- 
ried with  them  all  the  bitterness  of  the  domestic  feud  with 
Roman  Catholics.  Outrages  directed  against  Catholic 
churches,  convents,  and  other  institutions  were  of  not 
unfrequent  occurrence  until  recently ;  and  on  occasion 
of  the  late  visit  of  the  Prince  of  Wales  to  Canada,  an  at- 
tempt was  made  to  force  from  His  Royal  Highness  a  rec- 
ognition of  the  association,  which  was  only  defeated  by 
his  own  firmness  and  by  the  judicious  and  moderate  coun- 
sels of  his  advisers."  * 

Nolwithstanding  all  this,  those  who  in  a  manner  exist 
by  Orungf^jsm  have  agitated  /or  a  rejwal  of  all  prohibitory 
laws  against  Orange  processions;  and  the  Orange  society 

•  Hi'o  Olwuuber's  Eiic,  Art.  Oraiiyeism. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


185 


would  fain  appear  as  persecuted  virtue  evoking  sympa- 
thy ;  and  notwithstanding  the  pleas  and  the  pretensions 
of  this  vaunting  association,  many  of  its  leaders,  and 
many  of  its  members,  have  proved  recreant  to  their  loudly 
avowed  principles ;  there  seom.s  to  be  a  leaven  of  Jesuitism 
even  in  this  society;  for  Orange  members  of  Parliament, 
especially  in  Canada,  have  been  known  to  readily  vote  for 
munificent  grants  to  Catholic  theological  institutions,  and 
very  few  have  proved  more  servile  to  Catholic  Church 
dignitaries  than  Orange  politicians  anxious  for  political 
support,  and  Orange  statesmen  eagerly  desirous  of  retain- 
ing power. 

When  it  became  known  that  the  Catholics  had  deter- 
mined to  oppose  the  procession,  or  attack  the  "loyal 
body,"  the  wildest  shouts  were  heard  in  various  quarters  ; 
many  were  delighted  at  the  bare  idea  of  having  a  chance 
to  cut  down  a  "damned  pai>ist ; "  and  certain  mounted 
officials,  with  streaming  ribbons,  galloped  furiously  about, 
frantically  brandishing  a  sword  or  other  weapon,  as  if 
the  whole  "glorious  cause  "  just  then  and  there  depended 
on  the  quantity  of  bluster  or  perspiration  that  might 
escape  them.  At  the  time  there  api)eared  to  be  much  con- 
fusion, and  together  with  shouts,  and  oaths  and  screams, 
there  was  a  great  waving  of  flags  and  pounding  of  big 
drums.  Frightened  women  were  hurrying  off,  many  of 
them  urging  crying  children  to  greater  speed.  Shopkeep- 
ers could  be  seen  hastily  putting  up  shutters  and  closing 
their  places  of  business;  ai)ple  women  and  other  petty 
dealers,  were  making  off  with  their  stands,  and  several 
persons  were  fastening  down  windows,  and  taking  such 
other  hurried  ijfccautions  for  safety  as  were  thought 
necessary. 

Shots  and  shouts,  the  beating  of  big  drums,  and  the 
rattle  of  little  drums,  and  the  wild  medley  of  x)arty  tunes, 
were  again  heard;  and  the  din  and  disc(^rd  were  most 
bewildering.  Lodge  after  lodge  fell  in ;  a  great  line  was 
formed,  and  after  more  needless  galloping  and  cantering 
about,  the  proceBsion  at  lamt  started.    Somewhat  iu  ad- 


:ik«.iU 


:■:  C 

"   4 


I  ;•■; 


;■   I 


186 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


•  -'fell 


1  a- 


III  ~T 


Vance,  the  "Deputy  Gmn<l,"  mounted  on  a  grey  horse, 
rode  with  affected  stately  bearing;  men  at  arms,  and  high 
Orange  officials  on  either  side,  made,  as  it  were,  vigorous 
exertions  to  curb  their  restless,  prancing  steeds,  and  as 
the  sun  shone  down  on  swords  and  spears,  and  upon  red 
cloaks,  red  Hags,  and  orange  flags;  upon  yellow  and  bhie 
ribbons,  and  upon  the  varied  tinsel  and  rude  decorations 
of  this  motley  assemblage,  the  whole  appeared  to  be  more 
like  a  vast  gathering  of  harlequins,  than  an  organized 
fraternity  intent  on  mischief. 

Mr.  Valiant  from  his  seat  at  an  upper  window  of  the 
hotel  had  seen  the  pre|)aratory  arrangements  for  the  pro- 
cession, and,  having  waited  until  it  moved  away,  and  had 
time  to  pass  through  some  of  the  principal  streets,  was 
about  to  follow  and  see  something  of  the  disi)lay,  in  order 
to  bo  able  to  judge  as  to  the  effect  of  such  an  exhibition 
upon  a  population  so  divided  in  theological  belief.  He 
was  not  at  the  time  aware  that  there  was  to  be  any  hostile 
Catholic  demonstration ;  this,  though  known  to  many 
others  had  not  reached  him,  and  he  had  attributed  the 
wild  shouts,  that  had  rent  the  air  to  a  feeling  of  Orange 
(  xuberanec.  Now,  however,  just  as  he  was  about  to  start 
from  the  place,  he  was  sur]»rised  to  see  a  wild  mob  of 
men,  who  were  yelling  like  iiends,  rush  up  in  front  of  the 
hotel.  As  their  sudden  ai)pearance  and  savage  aspect 
boded  no  good,  he  (luickly  re-entered  the  house,  and  went 
up  again  to  the  room  which  he  had  just  left.  The  landlord 
was  a  picture  of  consternation ;  he  seemed  to  know  at  a 
glance  with  whom  he  had  to  deal.  Many  of  the  servants 
were  terror  stricken,  most  of  them  left  the  house  and  ran 
off  to  places  of  security.  There  was  no  time  lost  by  the 
new  comers;  several  of  the  mob  rushed  into  the  house 
like  furies,  smashing  windows,  and  furniture,  and  any 
thing  they  could  lay  hands  on  ;  others  tore  down  the  large 
Orange  flag  that  hung  over  the  doorway,  and  the  banner, 
which  but  a  few  minutes  previously  had  waved  proudly 
from  the  cupola,  was  now,  like  the  other  flag,  lying  in  the 
dusty  street,  torn  into  shreds,  while  a  huudred  yelling 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE  UUATU. 


187 


men,  and  oven  some  wild  looking  women,  were  trampling 
it  int  '  the  ground,  befouling  every  thread  of  the  orange 
silk,  damning  King  Willi  mi,  and  swearing  loud  vengeanc*' 
against  all  connected  with  the  '  infernal  rabble  of  Urange- 
men." 

No  one  could  be  more  helpless  than  the  landlord  of  the 
hotel  in  this  extremity;  he  had  been  left  almost  entirely 
deserted;  a  few  oi  his  servants  /ho  had  remained  with 
him  had  been  violently  assaulted  and  had  to  flee  for  their 
lives.  He  saw  some  jf  the  infuriated  men  make  prepar- 
ation to  set  tire  to  the  i»la<'e,  and  as  he  was  well-known 
for  his  Orange  proclivities,  he  dared  not  approach  to 
plead  or  to  remonstrate;  for  he  well  knew  that  his  life 
would  then  be  held  but  of  littlo  account.  None  in  the 
neighborhood  dared  come  to  his  assistance,  and  he  ex- 
pected to  witness  nothing  but  complete  disaster.  While 
in  this  dilemma  lie  was  noticed  by  some  who  were  demol- 
ishing hib  property,  A  cry  was  raised,  and  nearly  a  score 
of  savage  men  chased  him  along  halls  and  corridors,  and 
just  as  he  was  ready  to  fall  into  their  hands  weak  and 
panting,  a  door  was  suddenly  opened  by  a  gentleman  ;  the 
landlord  rushed  into  the  room  and  locked  the  door;  the 
gentleman  heroically  remained  on  the  outside,  and  the 
savage  pursuers  were  suddenly  stayed  in  their  course  by 
the  resolute  appearance  and  attitude  of  John  Valiant. 

After  a  few  moments  hesitation,  one  fellow  made  an 
attempt  to  advance,  and  cried  out:  "Stand  aside  and  let 
us  in!" 

'*  If  you  follow  that  man,  you  do  so  at  your  own  peril ; 
I'll  not  let  one  of  you  pass  in  here  if  I  can  prevent  it,"  said 
Mr.  Valiant  in  a  determined  tone. 

"Stand  aside,  I  tell  you.  We  must  tear  that  damned 
Orangeman  to  pieces,"  and  the  man  made  another 
attempt  to  get  to  the  door. 

"If  you  approach  one  step  further  you  will  force  me  to 
use  this,  and  I  shall  do  it.  Don't  come  nearer."  John 
Valiant  had  somehow  got  possession  of  the  short  thick 
end  of  a  broken  ilag-i)ole ;  it  was  a  i)iece  of  ash,  and  would 


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188 


THE  HBATUEN8  OF  THB  HEATH. 


have  been  a  terrible  weapon  in  the  hands  of  him  who  then 
grasped  it. 

The  men  instinctively  judging  that  they  had  an  iin- 
Qinching  person  to  deal  with,  again  hesitated,  and,  in 
their  disappointment  they  now  became  abusive. 

'*  You're  another  of  the  infernal  crew ;  if  you  don*t  got 
out  of  our  way  we'll  soon  find  something,  and  hack  you 
to  pieces." 

"  I'm  no  Orangeman,"  replied  John  Valiant,  '*  but  you 
are  cowards  to  come  here  twenty  to  one  after  a  single 
man.  Don't  approach,  I  tell  you:  another  step  and  I 
strike,"  and  now  the  heavy  stick  was  raised  and  a  furious 
and  perhaps  fatal  blow  would  have  been  given,  if  the  fel- 
low who  tried  to  advance  had  not  quickly  retreated. 

"You  are  one  of  the  vile  tribe— we'll  send  you  to  hell ; 
but  that's  too  good  for  you,"  now  shouted  another.  *'  You 
've  got  the  cursed  colors  next  your  heart— it  ought  to  be 
torn  out  and  stuffed  in  your  own  mouth."  While  saying 
this  the  man  pointed  scornfully  to  Mr.  Valiant's  breast. 

In  changing  part  of  his  apparel  after  his  late  misadven- 
ture upon  his  arrival  in  the  city,  Mr.  Valiant  had  thought- 
lessly replaced  the  light  green  silk  vest  which  had  given 
such  offence,  with  one  oi"  a  blue  color,  and  though  the 
shade  was  rather  deep,  it  only  made  the  small  silken 
orange  sprigs  scattered  over  it  more  conspicuous.  Even 
then,  after  this  fresh  reviling,  it  did  not  occur  to  hira  that 
he  was  wearing  any  color  which  could  possibly  give 
offence. 

It  is  probable  that  the  evil  disposed  men  who  were  then 
held  aloof,  would  have  soon  overcome  all  opposition,  and 
have  burst  into  the  room,  but  Just  then  a  number  of  sold- 
iers and  constables  made  their  appearance.  A  few  of  the 
lawless  men  who  had  entered  the  house  were  arrested,  the 
others  had  made  their  escape. 

Before  the  arrival  of  this  fortunate  succor,  the  land- 
lord had  jumped  down  from  a  back  window  to  a  balcony, 
and  thence  to  a  lane,  from  which  he  made  off  from  his 
enemies.    Soon  afterward,  when  he  could  venture  to  re- 


ti 
ic' 

t] 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


189 


1  V^i 


turn  to  the  house  with  servants  and  assistants,  Mr.  Val- 
iant took  his  way  through  the  city,  desirous  of  finding  out 
the  perambulating  lodges. 

While  on  their  course  through  the  streets,  the  report 
eamo  to  the  ears  of  some  of  the  Orange  leaders,  that 
their  late  headquarters  had  been  nearly  demolished.  A 
sufficient  number  of  men  were  at  once  «letached  ^nd  sent 
back  to  defend  the  place;  soldiers  and  policemen  had 
also  received  orders  to  hurry  forward.  In  the  absence 
of  certain  Orange  bodies,  a  simultaneous  attack  had  been 
made  on  thoir  lodge  rooms,  and  a  great  deal  of  property 
was  destroyed.  The  houses  of  many  of  the  most  promi- 
jH^nt  Orangemen  in  the  city  had  been  ransacked,  and 
individual  Orangemen,  and  certain  other  Protestants,  had 
boon  hunted  and  waylaid  here  and  there,  and  badly 
beaten.  Much  injury  had  been  done ;  but  as  the  Catholics 
had  so  far  refrained  from  making  a  direct  attack  on  the 
l)roce8sion,  the  incensed  Orangemen  were  perplexed  and 
burning  for  revenge ;  and  as  they  could  not  at  once  lay 
violent  hands  on  the  "  damned  papists,"  they  could  any 
way  visit  their  accursed  mass  houses  and  scatter  their 
crosses  and  their  idols  to  the  wind,  and  pitch  thcif  holy 
water  into  the  nearest  puddle. 

With  such  intent,  over  a  thousand  Orangemen  had 
orders  to  move  forward.  The  "Deputy-Grand"  and  his 
mounted  companions,  were  determined,  somehow,  to  teach 
the  papists  anothef  lesson  that  should  be  remembered. 
Moving  on  then  at  a  quick  pace,  it  was  not  long  before  they 
drew  up  before  a  large  Catholic  chapel,  with  intent,  it 
might  be,  to  demolish  it  forthwith— at  least  such  was  the 
desire  of  a  great  majority  of  those  present.  However, 
before  these  Christian  iconoclasts  commenced  their  exem- 
plary work,  a  fanatical  chaplain,  who  wore  a  white  gown, 
and  who,  while  holding  a  Bible  in  one  hand,  clutched  a 
sword  in  the  other,  proposed  tliat  all  present,  who  had 
never  bent  the  knee  to  Baal,  should  lirst  ask  the  blessing 
of  God  on  their  **  endeavors  to  serve  His  holy  cause,  the 
cause  of  civil  and  religious  freedom,  the  cause  of  our 


I      .      ! 


I  ,   I 

i 


if: 


190 


THE  nEATIIENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


glorious  Constitution— the  grand  Orange  cause."  Horp 
there  was  loud  cheering,  and  while  the  pious  chailain  was 
making  shuffling  endeavors  to  mount  a  cart  for  the  pur- 
pose  of  being  sufficiently  elevated  to  offer  up  a  prayer,  tlio 
"Deputy-Grand"  and  several  of  his  magnates  galloped 
up  and  interfered  for  the  time  with  the  devout  proposal. 

This  great  offlcial  having  intimated  his  desire  to  addross 
the  brethren,  a  vast  circle  was  soon  formed,  he  and  his 
companions  rode  to  the  centre,  and  with  lusty  voice  ho 
then  and  there  spoke  out  to  tho&e  assembled : 

*' Orangemen— loyal  brothers— upholders  of  the  causi^ 
of  civil  and  religious  liberty,  (great  oheers,)  surrounded, 
as  I  am,  by  your  impenetrable  ranks,  I  feel  that  our  holy 
and  glorious  Protestant  principles  are  safe  (cheers),  and 
that  could  the  sneaking  Vicegerarrt  of  the  devil,  who  now 
hides  his  diminished  head  under  i;he  shadow  of  the  seven 
Boman  hills;  (cheers)  could  that  propounder  of  blasphe- 
mous infallibility,  with  his  triple  crown,  and  dead  men's 
bones,  see  your  proud  faces  on  this  auspicious  day  (cheers), 
he  would  tremble  again  on  his  tottering  throne  in  the 
sublime  presence  of  Orange  freemen  (terrific  huzzas). 
But,  brethren,  much  as  we  have  done  and  suffered  for  our 
glorious  principles,  how  have  we  been  treated  by  a  dast- 
ard Government,  that  would  dare  to  circumscribe  Oran,;j:o 
liberty?  (Hisses.)  Here  we  are,  face  to  face  with  be- 
nighted papists— far  worse  than  the  veriest  infidels— pa- 
pists, who  have  been  pampered  to  audacity,  and  whilo 
trying  to  control  and  enlighten  those  serfs  of  Popery,  wo 
have,  even  on  this  very  day,  been  made  to  suffer  loss  and 
injury  for  our  moderation  (yells) ;  and  many  of  us  have 
become  martyrs  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  loyalty  (renew- 
ed yells).  Shnll  we,  sons  of  noble  sires,  submit  without 
resistance  to  papist  insults?  (Never,  never!)  Servilo 
statesmen  now  in  power,  have  tried  to  denounce  our  prin- 
ciples, and  to  reduce  us  to  the  degraded  level  of  Pvoraaii- 
ists.  But  hear  me,  brethren  :  by  all  the  powers  eternal, 
this  shall  never  be.  (Great  cheers. )  We  feel  that  we  can 
be  independent  of  rotten  statesmen ;  we  feel,  and  we  know. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


191 


that  we  can  have  powerful  aids;  for  the  Lord  God,  even 
the  God  of  Israel,  is  on  our  side.    (Immense  cheering.) 

See  here,  valiant  brothers,  I  have  on  my  Orange  scarf 
(cheers)  because  I  am  the  Deputy-Grand  Master  of  the 
Orange  Association  of  England  (cheers),  and  because  it 
represents  a  good  principle.  It  represents  civil  and  relig- 
ious liberty.  (Loud  cheers.)  It  represents  an  open  Bible. 
(Cheers.)  It  represents  the  preaching  of  the  glorious  Gos- 
l)el  of  the  blessed  God.  O  brethren,  shall  I  tell  you  some- 
thing ?  (Hear,  hear,  cries  of  '*  yes.")  Two  or  three  years 
ago,  I  sent  to  the  New  York  State  fifty  Orange  warrants, 
and  you  will  find  in  their  lodge  rooms— you  will  find  fifty 

papers  signed  with  the  name  of  .    (Cheers.)    Wo 

have  300,000  armed  Orangemen  in  Canada ;  we  have  250,(/0O 
in  Ireland  (cheers),  and  there  is  not  one  of  the  Queen's 
ships  that  sails  out  of  Portsmouth,  that  does  not  contain  a 
band  of  Orangemen.  (Cheers.)  What  then  can  we  fear 
from  Gladstone,  that  infernal  Jesuit  ?  (Loud  cheers  and 
laughter.)  I  defy  thee,  (cheer)  oh  Pope  of  Bome,  thou 
nnconflned  fiend  of  hell,  the  Lord  God  shall  shortly  con- 
sume thee.  (Cheers  and  laughter.)  O  House  of  Lords — 
must  I  say  it— I  will  say  it,  (laughter,)  thou  shalt  perish. 
(Laughter.)  Shall  I  say  something  more  ?  I  will  say  it. 
O  Prince  of  Wales,  thou  wilt  never  be  king  of  England." 
(Laughter  and  confusion.)  * 

A  short  time  before  the  conclusion  of  this  address  sev- 
eral excited  and  uncontrollable  Orangemen  had  attacked 
bystanders  whom  they  took  to  be  papists,  others  had  placed 
ladders  against  the  gothic  windows  of  the  Catholic  church 
for  the  purpose  of  entering  the  building  by  that  means ; 
and  while  others  were  trying  to  force  in  the  large  church 
door,  about  twenty  scattering  shots  were  fired,  anc^  a 
shower  of  stones  followed  from  behind  a  low  wall  which 


*  That  part  of  the  above  Bpeeoh  after  the  words  *"  see  here,  valiant 
brothers."  is,  aooordini?  to  a  Belfast  newspaper,  the  actual  rodomon- 
tade uttered  at  the  annual  m«!etingof  the  Stalybri^fre  Constitution- 
al Association,  in  Octolicr,  1872.  by  a  Di'im^y  Oraml  Mastor  of  the 
Orange  Association,  insHcondinc:  a  vote  of  thanlcs  to  the  Mayor. 


am- 


I 


i 


\ 


192 


THE  UEATHEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


enclosed  a  kind  of  yard  at  the  buck  of  that  eiiftce.  Before 
the  smoke  cloanMi  away  cries  were  hoard;  three  meu  lay 
on  the  ground,  and  live  or  six  others  who  had  been  wound- 
ed were  seen  limpini^  away,  or  led  off  by  friends.  Hund- 
reds of  the  Orangemen  now  lost  all  control,  and  rage  and 
wild  excitement  seemed  to  predominate.  Nearly  a  hund- 
red men  speedily  rushed  over  the  low  wall,  and  the  work 
of  havoc  commenced.  The  first  man  wearing  an  orange 
sash  who  got  into  the  yard  fell  in  a  minute  dead  to  the 
earth ;  and  a  stout  man  with  a  green  scarf,  who  had  struck 
the  mortal  blow,  now  lay  by  his  side  desperately  wounded. 
In  less  than  five  minutes  seven  more  Orangemen,  and 
thirteen  Catholics,  lay  around  in  the  yard,  dead  and  dying, 
and  many  others  on  both  sides  were  severely  wounded.  A 
company  of  soldiers  now  rushed  forward,  cleared  the 
place  and  took  si3veral  prisoners.  Before  the  soldiers 
came  many  of  the  Orangemen  who  had  been  trying  to  get 
into  the  building  through  the  windows,  had  been  hurled 
down  from  the  ladders  and  were  badly  injured.  Still 
indifferent  to  the  presence  of  soldiers  or  of  constables  the 
(Orangemen  in  overwhelming  numbers  continued  their 
assault  on  the  church.  Stones  flew  thick  and  fast,  and 
every  pane  of  glass,  every  window,  and  every  door  was 
quickly  smashed  or  broken.    ' 

Just  at  this  time  John  Valiant  had  a  narrow  escape. 
He  had  overtaken  the  Orange  procession  as  the  "  Deputy 
Grand  "  had  commenced  his  address  to  his  brethren,  and 
he  was  a  witness  of  all  that  had  subsequently  occurred. 
Previously,  while  in  the  streets  among  the  people,  he  did 
his  best  to  allay  bad  feelings,  and  after  the  shots  had  been 
11  red  he,  at  his  own  risk,  assisted  many  of  the  wounded ; 
and  he  restrained  a  few  others  from  the  commission  of 
bloody  deeds.  Some  time  after  the  arrival  of  the  soldiers 
he  by  some  means  got  into  the  church.  He  had  been 
greatly  heated  and  fatigued  by  his  exertions  to  serve  otli- 
ers,  and  as  he  sat  in  a  retired  spot  wiping  his  face  with  one 
of  the  yellow  &ilk  handkerchiefs  which  he  had  brought 
from  India,  aboqt  a  dozen  excited  Gatholics,  who  were 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


193 


then  rushinp  throiip?b  tho  stormed  edifice,  mistook  him 
for  an  Orangeman,  and  dashed  at  him  with  all  tho  fury  of 
savages.  In  another  moment  ho  might  have  boon  fatally 
injured  were  it  not  for  the  foremost  man  who  suddenly 
stopped  and  spread  out  his  arms  as  if  to  keep  the  others 
back. 

•'Good  God!  what  are  you?  Did  I  not  moot  you  this 
morning  when  you  were  waylaid  by  Orangemen  ?  What 
are  you  ?    Who  are  you  ?  " 

•'  Yes,  you  met  me  this  morning,"  said  Mr.  Valiant,  now 
recognizing  his  interrogator,  *'  and  I  don't  forget  you ;  I 
shall,  I  hope,  have  to  thank  you  now  for  another  rescue." 

"  But  what  are  you  ?  "  said  the  man  again,  and  ho  look- 
ed with  flashing  eyes  at  the  yellow  handkerchief. 

Mr.  Valiant  now  seemed  to  understand  all,  and  replied : 
"  I  am  nothing  in  this  place— nothing  but  what  I  was  this 
morning— neither  Orange  nor  Green,  but  a' stranger  in  this 
city,  even  now  anxious  to  get  away— never  to  see  it  again." 

**I  believe  you  speak  the  truth,"  said  the  man  who  had 
been  looking  searchingly  into  his  eyes,  "  but  as  you  have 
got  rid  of  the  green,  get  rid  of  that  color  also,  as  soon  as 
you  can  if  you  wish  to  be  safe."  The  men  then  hurried 
away,  leaving  Mr.  Valiant  alone. 

In  about  a  minute  afterwards  several  constables  entered 
and  took  possession  of  the  church.  By  the  greatest  exer- 
tions of  the  military  and  the  police,  tho  infuriated  Orange- 
men were  prevented  from  doing  further  damage.  A  strong 
guard  was  set  to  protect  the  place ;  and  some  hours  after, 
when  the  incendiary  crowd  had  almost  disappeared,  tho 
guard  was  replaced  by  a  night  watch.  But  the  watchmen 
must  have  slept,  for  before  day  dawn  mighty  flames  leaped 
as  if  to  anticipate  the  sun  rise ;  and  all  the  ensuing  day- 
one  of  gloom— many  were  looking  with  different  feelings 
at  the  bare,  black,  dilapidated  walls  of  the  Catholic 
church;  and  those  same  roofless  walls  then  stood  up 
before  all  as  a  fresh  evidence  of  the  harmony  that  exists 
among  Christian  people  in  tho  "  Island  of  Saints."  • 

*  Bee  acoounts  of  Orange  and  Crtholic  riots  in  Belfast 


im- 


H! 


,.r 


0 


■.tM't. 


<;■  i 

fB  ■  1 

iS 

CHAPTER    XIX. 


MISSION  ART  EFFORTS  AND  FAILTTHES, 


T^HAT  a  deluge  of  rain !  as  if  the  weeping  heavens 
"  *  were  anxious  to  wash  out  the  blood,  and  to  extin- 
guish the  smouldering  fire  caused  by  desperate  religious 
riots  in  a  Christian  city.  It  had  poured  down  from  an 
early  hour  upon  the  desolate-looking  streets  of  Belfast; 
and  the  aspect  of  nature  was  truly  melancholy.  But  not 
alone  did  the  streets  seem  desolate,  for  there  were  deso- 
late homes  and  desolate  hearts;  and  not  alone  did  the 
heavens  weep,  for  women  and  children  were  weeping  over 
the  recent  slain.  There  was  weeping  in  hospitals  over 
those  who  were  soon  to  die,  and  there  would  be  weeping; 
to-morrow  over  the  graves  of  those  who  had  come  to  a 
sudden  and  untimely  end. 

But  yet  all  did  not  weep. who  had  lost  relatives  or 
friends  in  the  sad  havoc  of  the  previous  day;  there  was 
one  who  felt  little  or  no  regret  at  what  had  happened. 
The  Orange  chaplain,  in  white  gown,  who  desired  to  in- 
voke destruction  on  the  "man  of  sin,"  and  who  would 
have  prayed  for  the  valiant  brethren  that  had  been 
arrayed  against  popery  on  the  late  glorious  Twelfth,  felt 
that  strife  such  as  had  occurred,  was  necessary ;  that  in 
the  order  of  Providence,  there  would  be  an  eternal  war- 
ring between  the  forces  of  good  and  evil,  and  that  thereby 
good  would  almost  always  overcome.  "  Staunch  Protest  - 
antism  "  was  his  ideal  of  good,  as  "popish  mummery" 
was  that  of  evil.  Why,  thought  he,  should  there  be  weep- 
ing among  the  victors ;  the  chaplain  could  see  no  reason 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


for  tears— there  should  ho  thought,  be  rather  rojoiciii^ 
—for  if  one  of  God's  faithful  frionda  had  fallen,  a  dozen  of 
his  enemies  had  been  exterminated  ;  and  was  not  this,  on 
the  whole,  a  benefit— a  real  gain?  Besides,  the  Protest- 
ant chaplain  felt  as  much  assured,  that  those  of  the  loyal 
Orangemen  who  had  yielded  up  their  lives  in  battling 
against  a  foul  sj'stem  of  lies  and  corruption,  were  just  as 
certain  of  eternal  glory,  as  some  Catholic  chaplains  felt 
confident  that  these  same  Orange  souls  would  be  doomed 
to  an  eternity  of  brimstone  for  harassing  and  persecuting 
the  innocent  members  of  the  only  true  Church.  And  if 
ordained  priests,  Protestant  and  Catholic,  entertained 
such  opposite  oi)inions  on  this,  as  well  as  on  cognate  sub- 
jects, it  may  reasonably  be  inferred  that  the  people  whom 
they  controlled  would  form  similar  charitable  conclu- 
sions. 

However,  notwithstanding  the  heavy  rain,  there  were 
occasional  intermissions  when  one  might  venture  out; 
and  so  people  watched  and  waited  for  a  chance  to  take  a 
hurried  walk,  or  even  to  run,  to  see  the  still  smouldering 
ruins,  and  the  blotches  of  blood,  and  the  reddened  rain- 
pools  that  marked  the  place  of  contest. 

Some  rubbed  their  hands  delighted,  while  gazing  at  the 
evidences  of  the  Orange  triumph ;  others,  with  compress- 
ed lips  and  savage  looks,  were  thinking  of  revenge.  And 
yet  the  scene  was  not  altogether  strange,  it  was  almost  a 
renewal  of  what  many  of  those  present  had  witnessed 
more  than  once  in  their  lives,  and  a  scene  such  as  others 
hoped  might  be  viewed  again— but  from  a  different  stand- 
point—when those  that  now  exulted  should  be  in  conster- 
nation. 

Though  many  eager  partisans  or  sympathizers  had  thus 
seized  o]>portunities  of  gr  ing  out,  even  for  a  few  minutes, 
to  see  what  could  be  seen,  many  others,  just  as  eager  to 
gaze  with  satisfaction  at  the  ruins,  or  to  deplore  the 
calamity,  but  who  lived  at  too  great  a  distance,  were 
obliged  to  remain  at  homo  fretting  the  hours  away,  while 
anxiously  waiting  for  the  weather  to  clear  up.    In  a  row 


;:.^t 


I 


iim< 


£ 


IM 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


cf  handsome  cottages,  situated  in  Malone,  an  elevated 
suburb  south  of  Belfast,  an<l  commanding  an  extensive 
view,  lived  the  Rev.  Seth  Graham,  or  rathe  •,  as  the  pol- 
ished brass  plate  on  his  front  door  indicated,  "  Seth  Gra- 
ham, Missionary."  Well,  this  same  Mr.  Graham,  like 
other  ministers,  had  peeuliar  views  on  many  subjects, 
and,  though  having  been  duly  ordained  to  preach  tlu^ 
Gospel,  and,  as  he  believed,  to  denounce  and  belalK»r 
Popery  and  Paganism,  and  if  need  be.  Prelacy  also,  yet 
he  thought  that  no  man  had  a  right  to  be  called  "  Rever- 
end ; "  still,  although  he  positively  refused  to  have  that 
significant  prefix  put  before  his  name,  he  rejoiced  in  the 
more  appropriate  addition  of  "Missionary."  To  some 
extent  he  had  been  a  missionary.  Born  and  educated  in 
the  Protestant  city  of  Belfast,  and  in  course  of  time,  after 
much  theological  training,  set  apart  by  Presbyterian  au- 
thority for  the  ministry,  his  reading  and  inclination  led 
him  to  become  interested  in  missionary  labor,  and  to 
such  labor  he  fancied  he  had  a  special  call ;  and  strange 
.to  say,  for  one  who  was  troubled  with  this  notion,  he  tool< 
at  that  time  a  rather  sensible  view,  and  considered  it  his 
duty  first  to  carry  the  "  pure  word  "  to  the  deluded  papists 
of  his  native  land,  instead  of  wandering  oft"  from  one  to 
ten  thousand  miles  for  the  purpose  of  reclaiming  other 
benighted  beings. 

To  Irish  papists  then  he  went,  yet  he  carried  the  mis- 
sionary notion  out  so  tar  as  to  leave  those  of  his  native 
I'ity  to  the  chance  proselyting  impulses  of  other  preach- 
ers, and  he  turned  his  steps,  Bible  in  hand,  to  the  far  South, 
fully  expecting  he  could  persuade  many  that  the  Pope  was 
the  "  man  of  sin,"  and  the  veritable  anti-Christ;  and  sus- 
tained by  a  strong  hope  that  his  message  would  be  gladly 
received,  he  first  opened  the  "Book  of  books"  to  the 
staring,  scornful  Romanists  of  the  old  popish  city  of 
Cork. 

It  may  be  truly  said,  that  his  Holiness,  the  Pope,  has 
not,  even  under  the  dome  of  St.  Peter's,  ar.y  more  devoted 
to  his  cause,  or  more  subservient  to  his  authority,  than 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THK  HEATH. 


197 


those  of  the  faitliful  rosiding  in  the  chief  city  of  the  prov- 
ince of  Mnnster.  From  Glen  mire  to  Blaclc  Pool,  or 
round  to  Black  Rook,  the  Cntholics  of  Cork  are  far  more 
Roman  than  the  Romans  themsolves;  and  thouj?h  these 
Catholics  forget— many  perhaps  do  not  know— that  a  Pope 
was  in  a  manner  the  main  cause  of  the  subjugation  of 
their  country  to  England,  they  now  hurl  anathemas  upon 
Italian  Catholics  who  have  dared  to  deprive  the  Holy 
Father  of  his  temporal  power;  and  nowhere  else  in  Chris- 
tendom are  the  rich  or  the  poor— even  the  almost  desti- 
tute— more  willing  to  furnish  **  Peter's  pence  **  to  replenish 
the  purse  of  the  '*  Vicar  of  Christ,"  or  to  say  a  ** pater  and 
ave  "  for  his  prosperity,  spiritual  and  temporal,  than  those 
of  his  creed  in  the  same  Munster  capital. 

It  was  among  such  people,  then,  that  Seth  Graham, 
missionary,  took  a  bold  stand ;  and  he  wrote  and  spoke 
against  prayers  to  the  Virgin,  and  against  invocations  to 
saints,  against  confession  and  absolution,  and  transub- 
stantiation ;  against  penance  and  against  purgatory ;  and 
against  crosses  and  relics,  and  holy  water,  but  all  in  vain. 
He  spoke  but  to  deaf  ears,  for  the  deluded  people  only 
jeered  and  laughed  at  him— they  were  most  wilful  in  their 
contempt— and  many  times  when  he  thought  it  his  duty 
to  waylay  them  as  it  were,  to  force  them  to  listen,  he  would 
try  to  catch  even  a  few  together  as  they  came  from  mass 
out  of  the  principal  parish  chapel ;  he  would  shout  aloud 
in  order  that  they  might  hoar  his  arguments,  or  his  decla- 
mation, and  more  than  once,  it  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
police  and  others  saved  him  from  the  indignation  and 
violence  of  those  whom  he  would  fain  convert. 

Within  less  than  three  months,  then,  from  the  time  he 
had  left  Belfast,  he  began  to  suspect  that  he  was  in  the 
wrong  place,  and  that  he  was  likely  to  have  but  little 
return  for  his  labor,  and  not  only  for  his  labor,  but  for 
certain  funds  which  he  had  rather  lavishly  distributed. 
Before  he  had  commenced  this  missionary  duty,  strong 
appeals  had  been  made  to  wealthy  church  members.  It 
had  been  represented  that  the  time  was  auspicious,  that 


'*»'' 


-■'•1 

!       ■  i 

I   M 


■    ■  i ; 


l^ 


it 


HL. 


tt  I 


I     V 
<     lit 

••     fii 


198 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


sowers  might  now  go  forth  to  sow  In  southorn  fields  and 
expect  rich  harveHts,  and  Protestant  Christians  wero 
cntroated  to  furnish  the  indispensable  suppliss  for  this 
Bpeoial  woric.  Thoii^'h  all  would  no  doubt  earnestly  ]>ray 
for  the  success  of  God's  servant— and  prayer  was  admittod 
to  be  the  most  powerful  aid— yet  his  hand  must  be  other- 
wise strengthened  if  they  wished  these  prayers  to  be  of 
any  avail.  Long  exi>erienoe  liad  already  tauj^'ht  them  this. 
So  after  much  exertion,  after  church  collections,  and 
Sunday  school  collections,  and  solicitations  from  door  to 
door,  and  after  sundry  tea  meetings,  got  up  by  devoted 
spinsters,  a  liberal  amount  had  been  obtained  and  placed 
at  the  disposal  of  Mr.  Graham,  and  to  this  judicious  out- 
lay among  very  needy  Romanists,  more  than  to  his  ser- 
mons or  prayers,  or  to  the  distribution  of  cheap  Bibles,  or 
of  texts,  or  tracts,  was  he  indebted  for  the  solitary  half 
dozen  Irish  disciples  whom  he  claimed  to  have  converted. 

Dissatisfied,  or  rather  disgusted,  with  the  results  of  his 
efforts  among  Irish  papists  in  Cork,  he  returned  to  Belfast ; 
and  still  full  of  the  missionary  idea,  it  was  not  long  be- 
fore he  persuaded  himself  to  believe  that  his  proper  place 
was  among  the  heathen.  Popery,  although  a  spurious 
form  of  Christianity,  had  still  something  of  its  essence ; 
had,  any  way,  a  belief  in  its  great  Founder,  which  was 
somethirg  bettor  and  safer  by  far  than  paganism  or  naked 
unbelief.  He  was  now  convinced  that  the  true  field  for 
missionary  labor  was  among  those  who  knew  nothing  of 
the  "Inspired  Word,"  who  had  never  heard  the  gospel 
message.  To  the  heathen,  therefore,  he  would  go;  he 
would  reveal  to  them  the  "  plan  of  salvation,"  without  a 
knowledge  of  which  they  must  all  ultimately  perish. 

Teaming  then,  it  is  presumed,  over  the  deplorable  con- 
dition of  the  dusky  inhabitants  of  the  East,  an  opportunity 
was  soon  afforded  him  to  hasten  to  their  rescue.  The 
great  Sepoy  rebellion  had  just  been  suppressed,  Christian- 
ity, it  was  said,  was  gaining  ground,  and  the  false  teachers 
of  Brahminism,  Buddhism,  and  Mahometism,  were  hiding 
their  heads,  ashamed  and  confounded.    The  blaze  of  gos- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


199 


pel  light  tbat  was  shod  upon  a  benighted  land— aided  it 
might  be  by  the  blaze  of  Christian  artillery— liad  produoed 
glorious  results  among  heathen  mutineers.  But  faithful, 
courageous  expounders  of  the  word  were  still  wanting, 
and  volunteer  missionaries  were  required  to  fill  up  the 
ranl^s,  and  to  supply  the  places  of  the  numbers  of  devoted 
men  who  hud  fallen  a  prey  to  native  fanaticism,  to  severe 
labor,  and  to  an  oppressive  and  unhealthy  climate.* 

Approved  of  by  the  Presbyterian  Board  of  Missions, 
arrangements  were  soon  made  for  his  departure.  The 
outfit  for  a  proselyting  excursion  to  India  would  involve 
no  little  expense,  but  funds  were  ample.  The  missionary 
chest  had  always  been  well  filled.  Even  though  the  cries 
of  poverty  at  home  were  pitiful;  even  though  the  body 
were  suffered  to  perish  for  lack  of  food,  the  immortal  soul 
must  be  saved  at  any  cost;  so  still  think  the  Lord's  ser- 
vants, and  so  they  have  always  thought.  Well  supplied, 
however,  as  he  was,  Mr.  Graham  very  properly  thought 
that  it  was  not  good  for  him  to  be  alone,  and  that  it  might 
serve  the  cause  could  he  find  a  suitable  helpmate.  He 
made  it  a  subject  of  prayer,  and  before  many  days,  was 
fortunate  in  getting  a  wife  who,  like  himself,  be  wailing 
the  sad  condition  of  idolatrous  heathen,  was  willing  to 
leave  home,  and  friends,  and  native  land,  and  go  to  the 
furthermost  ends  of  the  earth  to  spread  the  joyous  news. 
Therefore,  feeling  himself  a  chosen  messeoger,  the  bearer 
of  blessings  and  a  well  filled  purse,  Seth  Graham  and  his 
wife  went  forth  equipped  for  the  missionary  field,  and 
they  set  sail  for  India  to  join  in  the  unceasing  war  against 
the  degraded  followers  of  Juggernaut. 

Alas  for  disappointed  hopes !  A  little  over  two  years' 
experience  in  India,  fully  satisfied  the  Belfast  missionary 
that,  notwithstanding  the  great  efforts,  the  painful  sacri- 
fices, and  the  vast  expenditures  made  by  the  friends  of 
missionaries  to  establish  pure  Christianity  among  the 
idolatrous  natives  of  that  distant  land,  the  results  were 

•  See  Note  9. 


1 


» 


m 


• 

it 


f 


I     Mr 


T 


200 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Mil 


lil:. 


as  yet  of  the  most  paltry  kind,  and  would  be  altogether 
disheartening,  were  it  not  for  the  unwavering  faith  in  the 
future,  which  still  kept  hope  alive  in  the  bosoms  of  many 
Christian  ministers  and  people.  He  was  aware  that  those 
Janus-faced  apostles,  the  J'^suits,  had  been  early  among 
the  tribes  of  India,  and  h^  !,  by  fostering  the  system  of 
caste,  by  claiming  to  be  white  Brahmins,  and  not  for- 
eigners, and  by  a  deceitful  compromise  of  religious  ob- 
servance, induced  great  numbers  to  tjlieve  that  Cath- 
olicity was  a  religion  but  slightly  differing  from  tbeir  own 
fdith,  and  therefore  to  receive  the  outward  form  of  Chris- 
tian baptism,  whil*^  under  the  impression  that  that  rite 
was  something  bearing  a  clcse  rela'^ion  to  the  Hindoo 
creed;  this  was  the  way  that  Romanism  had  obtained 
nearly  all  of  its  native  adherents  in  India.  But  what  had 
been  the  progress  of  Protestantism  ?  Though  tradition 
assigns  India  as  the  scene  of  the  labors  and  martyrdom 
of  the  Apostle  Thomas ;  though  at  a  very  early  period, 
primitive  Christianity  had  been  introduced  into  that  coun- 
try ;  and  though  up  to  the  present  time,  missionary  lives 
and  treasures  had  been  lavishly  expended,  still,  compara- 
tively speaking,  not  more  than  a  mere  handful  of  natives 
could  be  claimed  as  having  been  converted  to  Protest- 
antism. Scarcely  over  120,000,  out  of  a  population  of  over 
two  hundred  millions ;  and  out  of  these  so-called  convert- 
ed natives,  there  were  scarcely  25,000  communicants,* 
while  on  the  other  hand,  the  progress  of  Mohammedan 
missionaries  had  been  most  astonishing.  They  commenc- 
ed their  labors  centuries  after  Christianity  had  gained  a 
foothold  in  the  East,  and  now  have  in  that  country  over 
twenty-five  millions  who  are  followers  of  the  Prophet,  and 
who  look  toward  Mecca  instead  of  toward  Benares.  But 
then,  it  was  said,  that  Mohammedanism  was  established 
in  India  as  much  by  the  sword  as  by  any  other  means, 


*  Mullen's  Oensus  of  Indian  Missions,  taken  in  1862,  gb.\e  Euro- 
pean Missions.  418;  ordained  natives,  81;  Catecliists,  1079;  nati.e 
cliurelies,  890;  native  Christians,  118,893;  commnnioants,  21,252;  boy 
scjholars,  54,88» ;  girl  soholars  14,7'23.    Meagre  results  indeed  1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


2U1 


lil^i 


and  yet,  wonderful  to  relate,  native  Mohammedans  are 
more  steadfast  to  their  adopted  creed  than  native  Chris- 
tians, and  a  Protestant  clergyman  has  asserted  that,  "  as 
a  general  thing,  the  Mohammedans  and  Hindoos  have 
lived  together  with  remarkable  tolerance  of  each  othev's 
antagonistic  faiths,"  *  while  it  must  bo  reluctantly  admit- 
ted that,  for  some  reason,  there  seems  to  be  a  strong 
native  prejudice  against  Christianity;  its  dictates  were 
considered  too  overbearing. 

Minister  of  peace,  as  Mr.  Graham  was.  these  startling 
facts  made  such  an  impression  as  to  lead  him  to  think, 
that  where  so  great  a  benefit  was  to  be  conferred  as  the 
establishment  of  Christianity,  and  the  overthrow  of  a 
grossly  erroneous  system,  a  little  pressure,  different  from 
that  of  moral  suasion,  might  be  profitably  used  with  stub- 
born nations ;  and  he  came  to  the  conclusion,  that  if  Chris- 
tianity were  ever  to  be  established  in  India,  such  a  pres- 
sure, sooner  or  later,  would  have  to  be  exercised. 

Unsuccessful  as  he  had  been  among  uneducated  Irish 
Catholics,  his  efforts  seemed  hopeless,  upon  finding  that 
the  placid  philosophical  Brahmins  scarcely  deigned  to 
reply  to  what  was  considered  but  the  puerile  arguments  of 
Christians.  Obstinate  as  were  the  Jews  in  their  disbelief 
in  the  Christian  Messiah;  irreclaimable  as  were  most 
R  jman  Catholics,  the  supreme  indifference  of  Brahmins 
and  Buddhists  was  most  tantalizing.  Hore,  while  under 
the  '  pression  that  nothing  could  withstand  the  argu- 
mci-vs  of  Christian  ministers,  Mr.  Graham  found  that 
Brahminical  priests,  while  pointing  to  their  Rig-Veda  as 
tho  most  ancient  of  all  sacred  books,t  alluded  to  Chris- 
tianity, as  but  a  thing  of  yesterday.  They  spoke  of  tho 
"  Liliputian  ohronology  "  of  the  Bible  as  absurd,  and  of 
the  Bible  itself  as  being  only  a  plagiarized  compilation 
from  their  own  Vedas,  from  other  sacred  books,  as  well  as 

♦  Rev.  E.  D.  O.  Prime,  D.D. 

t  Max  MuUer.  Professor  In  Oxford  University,  and  many  othet 
learned  men,  admit  tliat  ttie  Rig  Veda  of  the  Brahmins,  is  the  oldest 
of  all  saored  buoku. 


202 


THE  HBATHEKS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 
Xllt 

m 
"tii 


from  the  sayings  and  writings  of  ancient  sages,  and 
heathen  philosophers;  and  when  he  found  himself  unable 
to  disprove  these,  and  other  such  bold  assertions,  he  be- 
came incensed  that  such  blasphemy  could  not  lawfully 
be  punished  in  India  as  in  Britain ;  and,  under  a  feeling 
of  holy  indignation,  he  resolved  to  leave  a  land  of  spirit- 
ual darkness,  and  return  to  his  own  country,  which  was 
illuminated  hy  the  glorious  rays  of  Gospel  light. 

As  he  had  claimed  to  have  converted  a  few,  even  in 
Ireland,  it  would  not  do  for  Seth  Graham  to  leave  the 
East  without  being  able  to  exhibit  some  proof  of  what  had 
been  accomplished  through  his  humble  teaching  in  India. 
He,  like  most  other  missionaries,  was  under  the  impres- 
sion— nay,  even  confident— that  he  had  done  some  good 
among  the  heathen.  It  would  not  do  to  hear  some  parsi- 
monious grumblers  reassert,  that  the  contributions  of 
Christian  people  had  been  again  wasted  in  wild  mission- 
ary enterprises— no ;  when  he  .next  appeared  before  the 
Missionary  Board,  or  on  a  missionary  platform  in  Ireland, 
he  wished  to  be  able  to  give  undoubted  evidence  of  what 
the  Lord  had  affected  through  his  agency;  and  who  could 
gainsay  his  usefulness,  if  he  could  bring  with  his  bundle 
of  Hindoo  idols,  and  weapons,  and  trinkets,  two  or  three 
living  Hindoos  as  witnesses  of  what  God  had  wrought 
through  the  irresistible  power  of  His  word,  as  dispensed 
by  one  of  His  most  unworthy  servants  ?  He  had  an 
opportunity  for  doing  this.  About  two  weeks  before  ho 
left  Bombay,  a  native  lady  called  on  him,  and  stated  that, 
in  consequence  of  having  expressed  a  desire  to  embrace 
Christianity,  she  had  already  suffered  much  injury— almost 
persecution— at  the  hands  of  her  v/ealthy  relatives,  and 
that  she  had  determined,  rather  than  be  obliged  to  con- 
form to  the  religious  practices  which  she  had  now  aband- 
oned forever  to  go  to  some  Christian  land,  where  siie 
could  be  free  to  worship  as  she  pleased,  without  any  in- 
terference from  others ;  and  had,  therefore,  made  up  lier 
mind  to  go  to  England.  She  had,  she  said,  been  informed 
that  Mr.  Graham  was  about  to  return  to  that  country,  and, 


THS  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HUATU. 


203 


as  an  evidence  of  her  sincerity,  she  desired  that  he  should 
baptize  her  and  her  little  nephew— a  boy  of  about  eight  or 
nine  years— to  whom  she  had  given  Christian  instructions, 
and  whom  she  wished  to  take  with  her,  as  if  left  in  India, 
he  would  relapse  to  Hindooism ;  and  she  therefore  consid- 
ered it  a  sacred  duty  to  save  one  so  dear  to  her  from  a 
superstition  which  might  endanger  his  eternal  happiness. 
The  lady  adopted  the  Ohristian  name  of  Sarah,  and  the 
boy  was  known  as  Hemar. 

Mr.  Graham,  delighted  with  the  proposal,  not  only 
readily  acquiesced,  but  in  order  to  make  sure  of  such  a 
spiritual  prize,  he  persuaded  her  to  accept  his  hospitality 
in  the  meantime.  The  native  lady,  though  apparently  in 
good  circumstances,  was  quite  willing  to  become  his 
guest,  as  she  wished  to  get  away  as  privately  as  possible ; 
but  the  little  boy,  her  nephew,  wy.3  reluctant  to  go  to  the 
house  of  a  stranger;  his  detention  seemed  to  fret  him 
very  much;  he  spoke  of  his  mother,  and  wanted  to  go 
home— though  he  then  knew  not  its  direction ;  and  were 
it  not  for  the  watchfulness  of  his  aunt,  as  well  as  the 
eager  desire  of  Mr.  Graham,  he  would  have  made  his 
escape. 

Besides  these  converts  Mrs.  Graham,  the  missionary's 
wife,  had  a  Farsee  girl  called  Sheva  that  had  either  been 
kidnapped,  or  induced  to  wander  away  from  her  parents' 
home  in  Bombay.  As  it  was,  Mrs.  Graham,  being  herself 
childless,  seemed  to  take  a  rare  interest  in  the  girl,  and 
pitying  her  spiritually  destitute  condition,  not  only  induc- 
ed her  to  become  a  Christian,  but  to  refuse  to  return  to 
her  parents.  Being  much  depressed  at  the  departure  of 
their  child,  the  parents  made  every  inquiry,  and  when 
they  discovered,  as  they  supposed,  her  place  of  retreat, 
made  a  demand  that  she  should  be  given  up.  But  Mr. 
Graham  and  his  good  wife,  having  the  girl's  spiritual 
interest  at  heart,  denied  that  she  was  in  their  house,  and 
denied  all  knowledge  of  her  whereabouts,  and  not  only 
protested  against  being  suspected  of  keeping  her  conceal- 
ed, but  threatened  to  appeal  to  the  law  against  an  impu- 


«HJ  »-> 


n 


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.on  :  ■ 

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HI 

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-n     .    :f{»l 

11 

204 


THE  HGATIIENS  OF  TUB  HfiATH. 


tation  so  unjust.  The  parents  thus  baffled  went  sadly 
away ;  they  knew  not  that  their  child's  affections  had  been 
alienated,  or  that  she  had  been  secretly  baptized  by  a 
Christian  priest,  and  though  the  same  priest  might  admit 
that  it  would  be  wrong  to  teach  a  child  to  forget  its  natur- 
al parents,  he  might  think  it  a  far  greater  wrong  to  allow 
her  to  return  to  those  who  were  unable  to  give  her  a 
knowledge  of  the  true  God,  and  thus  imperil  her  salva- 
tion.* 

In  due  time  Mr.  Graham  and  his  wife  with  their  con- 
verts landed  in  England.  The  season  was  chilly,  there 
was  snow  on  the  hiiis,  and  thin  sheets  of  ice  were  spread 
over  ponds  and  pools,  and  even  upon  running  water. 
What  a  change  from  the  hot  breath  of  India !  The  sight 
must  have  been  depressing  to  the  natives  of  the  East,  for 
the  Hindoo  lady  appeared  to  have  become  suddenly  rest- 
less and  discontented ;  her  natural  vivacity  had  given  way 
to  a  suUenness  of  manner  which  was  noticed  by  all ;  and 
her  first  day  in  a  foreign  land  had  scarcely  closed  in  a 
dreary  night,  when,  without  giving  the  least  intimation, 
she  and  her  nephew  suddenly  disappeared.  A  hurried 
search  had  been  made,  inquiries  here  and  there  had  been 
fruitless,  no  one  had  seen  her,  no  one  could  give  the  least 
reliable  information  about  such  a  person,  and  no  clue 
could  be  obtained  as  to  her  place  of  retreat.  Everything 
had  been  managed  with  such  secrecy  and  tact  as  to  lead 
one  to  suppose  that  she  knew  Gravesend— the  first  port  at 
which  they  touched— and  every  person  in  it.  Her  two 
trunks  and  a  few  valuables  had  also  been  removed ;  and 
the  only  hint  in  any  way  relating  to  her  which  they  could 
get,  was  from  a  waterman  who  stated  that  about  dusk 
that  evening  he  saw  a  dark  featured,  foreign  looking  wo- 
man in  conversation  with  some  wandering  gypsies  who 
were  going  towards  London.  He  afterwards  saw  the  same 
person  on  one  of  the  river  steamers,  but  she  had  no  boy 
with  her— she  was  alone— of  this  he  was  certain,  for  being 


m 

I? 


Seo  Note  10. 


Ml 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


205 


rather  puzzled,  as  he  said,  by  her  manner  and  appearance 
he  watched  the  steamboat  leave  the  wharf,  and  he  saw 
the  strange  woman  sit  apart  from  the  other  passengers, 
and  just  as  it  was  growing  dark  she  wrapped  a  heavy 
shawl  or  mantle  about  her  as  if  preparing  to  sleep  until 
she  got  to  the  city. 

Unsatisfatory  as  this  information  was,  it  set  the  mis- 
sionary thinking.  Who  could  this  woman  be?  Could  it 
be  his  lady  protege— his  Hindoo  convert  Sarah?  If  so 
what  a  vile  deceiver !  He  then  became  somewhat  excited 
and  felt  inclined  to  curse  the  whole  race  of  pagans,  and  to 
upbraid  himself  and  others  for  wasting  time  and  money 
in  futile  attempts  to  rescue  them  from  deserved  perdition. 
Sorely  annoyed  as  he  then  was  he  could  have  wished  for 
another  Sepoy  rebellion  in  order  that  it  might  bring  them 
extermination.  After  the  end  of  his  long  voyage  he 
intended  to  pray  that  night,  and  return  thanks  for  their 
escape  from  the  dangers  of  the  deep ;  he  intended  that  his 
converts  should  have  had  a  touching  evidence  of  his  deep 
piety,  but  how  could  he  pray  now,  or  for  whom  ?  How 
hard  for  him  to  approach  the  "Throne  of  Grace  "  under 
such  circumstances.  And  yet,  after  all,  he  did  pray— it 
had  become  a  habit— but  alas !  his  prayer  was  not  for  ten- 
der mercies,  but  for  fierce  judgment  on  Pope,  and  pagan, 
and  infidel,  and  on  those  that  refuse  the  gospel.  He  knew 
that  kings,  prophets,  and  apostles,  of  old  had  hurled  con- 
demnation upon  the  heathen ;  and  as  these  should  still 
be  denounced,  he  urged  the  Lord  to  banish  unbelief  and 
to  thunder  in  the  ears  of  scofters  the  deserved  threat: 
"When  your  fear  cometh  as  a  desolation,  and  your 
destruction  cometh  as  a  whirlwind,  when  distress  and 
anguish  come  upon  you,  then  shall  ye  call  upon  me,  but 
I  will  not  answer,"  and  after  this  closing  petition  the  mis- 
sionary upon  the  first  night  of  his  return  retired  to  slum- 
ber, and  it  might  be  to  dream  of  couverting  savages  in 
other  lauds. 


c 


M 

f 


ii  » 


f 


J 


;   ;, 


{ill 

) 

4    «••'    '  '  f 

>   1} 

i  . 


CHAPTER   XX. 


■  a 

m 


MOBALITY  WITHOUT  THE  BIBLE. 

Tj^XPERIENCE  has  fully  proved  that  ministers  of  the 
'^  gospel  are  no  less  disconcerted  by  the  trials  and  dis- 
appointments of  life  than  persons  who  have  never  had 
apostolic  hands  laid  upon  them.  Priests,  from  the  nature 
of  their  calling,  though  presumed  to  possess  more  of 
the  virtue  of  forbearance  and  resignation  than  ordinary 
men,  have  too  often  been  sadly  deficient  when  required  to 
be  an  example  unto  others,  and  as  a  class  the;;  have  never 
shown  themselves  superior  to  common  sinners  in  the  hour 
of  trouble,  of  temptation,  or  of  misfortune.  This  glaring 
fact — for  fact  it  is — has  emboldened  many  doubters  to 
assert  that  religion,  in  the  time  of  adversity,  has  never 
yet  surpassed,  if  it  has  ever  yet  equaled,  the  calm  philos- 
ophy of  sages,  ancient  and  modern,  who  had  neither 
belief  in  theological  creeds,  nor  in  inspired  books. 

One  might  go  back  to  so-called  Apostolic  times,  and 
allude  to  the  record  of  the  weakness  and  prevarication  of 
Peter ;  the  infamous  betrayal  of  Judas ;  the  contention 
between  Paul  and  Barnabas ;  and  the  jealousy  and  dicta- 
torial ambition  of  Paul  himself.  The  history  of  the  early 
Christian  Fathers,  will  show  a  repulsive  side  of  human 
nature,  as  exemplified  in  the  wilfully  unscrupulous  state- 
ments and  fabrications  of  such  as  Ireneus,  Tertullian,  Or- 
igen,  Eusebius,  and  others,  who  were  so  thoroughly  men- 
dacious in  the  desire  to  propagate  their  crude  doctrines, 
as  to  justify  the  remark  that  '*Omnis  homo  mendax,'*  may 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


207 


be  accepted  as  an  inspired  aphorism.*  Later  still,  have 
not  the  priests  of  Borne,  and  of  England,  and  of  almost 
every  other  country,  proved,  as*  a  body,  to  be  ambitious 
and  resentful,  and  the  veriest  slaves  of  mystery  and 
intrigue.  They  have  been  credulous  or  doubtful,  ser- 
vile or  tyrannical  as  circumstances  permitted  or  required ; 
and,  at  the  present  day,  the  journalistic  record  of  clerical 
fallibility  and  crime,  regularly  flaunted  before  the  eyes  of 
all— believers  and  unbelievers — is  ruly  infamous;  and 
yet,  notwithstanding  all  this,  the  clergy  have  still  the 
audacity  to  assert  that,  without  them  and  their  creeds, 
there  could  be  no  more  morality,  no  more  faithfulness,  no 
more  peace  among  men ;  ignoring  the  fact  that  their  own 
morality  is  too  questionable,  their  own  faithfulness  too 
unreliable,  and  their  promised  peace,  but  the  excited  jar- 
ring of  theological  opinions,  the  hatred  of  sects,  and  the 
persecutions  of  bigotry.  They  are  evidently  desirous  of 
forgetting  that  the  only  age  of  the  world  which  can  be 
truly  called  the  *'  Pacific  Age,"  was  that  immediately  pre- 
ceding the  period  assigned  for  the  birth  of  the  Christian 
Messiah:  a  period  when  the  vhole  world  was  sunken  in 
so-called  "heathenish  darknoss,"  yet,  withal,  no  such 
time  has  ever  since  returned  to  bless  mankind. 

As  history  has  borne  sad  evidence  in  relation  to  the 
superiority  of  the  morals  and  humanity  which  Christian 
priests  asser  t  must  result  solely  from  the  adoption  of  one 


*  In  the  early  centuries  of  Christianity,  pious  misrepresentations 
were  quite  common.  Following  the  example  of  Paul,  many  of  the 
Christian  Fathers  did  not  hesitate  to  invent  and  circulate  that  which 
was  untrue,  in  order  to  benoflt  the  Church.  The  interpolation  in 
Josephus,  now  admitted  by  Dr.  Chalmers  and  others  to  be  a  forgery, 
is  charged  against  Eusebius,  who  was  most  unscrupulous  in  fur- 
nishing apocryphal  testimonials  for  the  support  of  truth.  In  the 
12th  Book  of  his  "  Evangelical  Preparation,"  Eusebius  devotes  a 
chapter  to  prove  that  falsehood  ought  to  be  used  when  required ;  and 
he  heads  the  3tst  chapter  with  the  question, "  How  far  it  may  be  proper 
to  use  falsehood  as  a  medicine  ?  "  Referring  to  the  Christian  clergy 
of  the  fourth  century,  Dr.  Mosheim,  the  learned  divine  and  histo- 
rian, admits.  "  That  it  was  an  almost  universally  adopted  maxim. 
that  it  was  an  act  of  virtue  to  deceive  and  lie,  when  by  such  meaua 
the  interestB  of  the  Church  ui  ight  be  promoted."— Vol.  l.  p.  198. 


!  'f  ■ 


.1  is 


'i 


I  i: 


ii 


I  ! 


I  1 


208 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 

II  ' 

I' 


of  the  most  modern  creeds,  let  us  glance  at  what  has  been 
said  as  to  the  standing  and  influence  of  some  of  those 
who  lived  before  Christianity  was  introduced  to  enlighten 
the  world.  It  is  the  fashion  of  Christian  ministers  to  decry 
Paganism,  and  to  represent  it  as  a  system  which  has  been 
most  debasing  in  its  effects.  Like  other  religious  systems, 
it  has  its  dark  side  as  well  as  its  bright  one,  yet  it  is  only 
fair  to  hear  something  of  what  has  been  said  in  its  favor 
by  men  whose  opinions  candid  persons  admit  to  be  above 
suspicion,  and  whose  statements  have  not  as  yet  been 
refuted. 

Among  those  ancient  pagans,  who,  according  to  a  com- 
mon orthodox  phrase,  '*  knew  not  God,"  the  names  of 
many  of  the  finest  characters  on  record  are  to  be  found. 
Without  alluding  to  kings,  to  soldiers,  or  to  priests— the 
"dead-heads  "  of  society— who  have  ever  been  the  prime 
elements  of  strife,  we  find  poets,  philosophers,  orators, 
musicians,  statesmen,  physicians,  scientists,  and  astrono- 
mers, some  of  whose  pure  minds  have  furnished  gems  of 
thought  even  for  the  pages  of  inspiration ;  while  the  won- 
derful talents  and  surprising  intuitions  of  others,  have 
guided  men,  in  nearly  every  vocation,  through  the  ages 
down  to  the  present  day.  To  establish  this,  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  grope  into  dim  antiquity,  nor  need  we  seek  to  dis- 
cover who  it  was  that  suggested  the  erection  of  the  mighty 
pyramids  of  Egypt,  or  whose  grand  conceptions  gave 
expression  to  the  once  shining  face  of  Memnon,  or  set  up 
the  towering  Sphinx,  with  placid  countenance,  to  gaze  for 
ages  upon  the  flowing  Nile,  and  out  upon  the  desert 
beyond ;  neither  is  it  necesssry  to  name  the  daring  archi- 
tects that  evcavated  the  vast  cave  temples  of  Ipsamboul, 
and  those  of  India ;  that  designed  the  gorgeous  palaces, 
or  that  raised  the  immense  statues  and  symmetrical  obe- 
lisks of  ancient  Egypt,  which,  after  a  lapse  of  thousands 
of  years,  are  still  the  pride  and  glory  of  the  intellectual 
world.  No;  let  these  dead  pagans  rest,  they  were  the 
great  preachers  of  their  time,  and  their  texts  can  still  be 
read  in  the  mountains  of  sculptured  granite,  and  in  the 


THE  iikathens  of  the  heath. 


209 


colossal  blocks  which  they  piled  and  beautified  so  that 
future  generations  might  have  ample  evidence  of  the 
depth  and  sincerity  of  the  faith  of  those  who  worshiped 
Christna  or  Osiris.  Instead  of  these,  let  us  deal  with  some 
of  the  pagans  of  subsequent  centuries,  and  name  but  a 
few  who  lived  and  flourished  in  the  yesterday  of  time, 
even  as  late  as  a  thousand  years  before  the  reputed  advent 
of  Christ. 

We  may  commence  with  Homer  the  so-called  "father  of 
poetry,"  and  who,  Sir  William  Temple  says,  "  was,  with- 
out doubt,  the  most  universal  genius  that  has  ever  been 
known  in  the  world ;  '*  and  of  whose  poems  it  has  been 
said:  "It  was  by  these  poems  that  all  the  worthies  of 
antiquity  were  formed.  Hence  the  law-givers,  the  found- 
ers of  monarchies  and  commonwealths,  took  the  model 
of  their  politics,  hence  the  philosophers  drew  their  first 
principles  of  morality,  hence  physicians  have  studied  dis- 
eases and  their  cares,  astronomers  have  learned  the 
knowledge  of  the  heavens,  and  geometricians  of  the 
earth."  Great  Homer!  who,  among  the  Christian  priests 
and  prophets,  have  ever  truly  deserved  more  veneration  ? 
Then,  following  Homer,  what  an  intellectual  array  I 
Thales  stands  before  us  chief  of  the  sages,  one  of  whose 
moral  maxims  was :  "Avoid  doing  what  you  would  blame 
others  for  doing.'*  "  Enrich  not  thyself  by  unjust  means." 
And  Pythagoras,  whose  teaching,  it  has  been  said,  "was 
of  the  purest  and  most  spiritual  kind— self  restraint,  sin- 
cerity, and  purity  of  heart,  were  especially  commended ; 
and  conscientiousness  and  uprightness  in  the  affairs  of 
life  would  seem  to  have  been  its  distinguishing  character- 
istics." Among  the  sayings  of  this  uninspired  philoso- 
pher are  the  following  words  of  wisdom:  "Do  what  you 
believe  to  be  right,  whatever  people  think  of  you."  "It 
is  impossible  that  he  can  be  free  who  is  a  slave  to  his  pas- 
sions." Then  we  have  Solon,  eminently  distinguished  as 
a  law  giver,  who  said:  "Study  excellence,  and  aim  at 
acquiring  it."  "Those  are  happy  who  act  honestly  and 
live  temperately."    "  Reverence  thy  parents."    "  Cherish 


iV. 


\ 


'.ftt. 


'    :  li 


'.■»! 


it' 
tl 


210 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATIT. 


I 


thy  friend."  Who  can  equal  iEsop  in  philosophical  fables? 
what  parables  have  ever  been  more  useful  to  mankind  ?  As 
dramatists,  there  is  ^schylus  the  father  of  tragedy,  and 
Thespis  with  his  wandering  troop,  and  Euripides,  said  to 
be  the  author  of  over  ninety  tragedies,  in  which,  it  is  as- 
serted, **  He  is  of  all  writers  remarkable  for  having  inter- 
spersed moral  reflections  and  philosophical  aphorisms  in 
his  dramatic  pieces." 

In  history  Herodotus,  Thucidydea,  and  Manetho,  are 
regarded  as  being  at  least  as  correct  and  impartial  as  any 
modern  writers,  and  as  a  general  thing  undeviating  in 
their  fidelity  to  truth.  (What  of  some  of  our  ecclesiasti- 
cal historians,  Protestants  and  Catholic  ?) 

As  orators  Demosthenes  and  Cicero  have  never  yet  been 
surpassed;  they  are  still  the  models  of  statesmen  and 
priests ;  they  continue  to  dignify  politics,  and  to  inspire 
inspiration. 

As  mathematicians,  Euclid,  Archimedes,  and  Eudoxius 
still  give  lessons  to  some  of  our  professors,  and  Hippocra- 
tes is  still  revered  as  the  father  of  medicine  and  "prince 
of  physicians."  To  these  might  be  added  Aristotle  and 
others. 

But  the  names  of  philosophers  now  perhaps  most  com- 
monly spoken  of  are  Confucius  and  Socrates,  to  the  form- 
er of  whom  is  ascribed  the  authorsLip  of  the  "Golden 
Rule,"  which  was  centuries  afterward  transferred  to  so- 
called  "sacred  writ"  as  an  original  saying  of  Jesus.  Of 
this  great  pagan  it  has  been  said :  "  His  integrity  and  the 
splendor  of  his  virtues  made  him  beloved;  kings  were 
governed  by  his  counsels,  and  the  people  revered  him  as  a 
saint ; "  and  of  Socrates,  whose  character  it  is  said  equal- 
ed if  not  surpassed  that  of  any  individual  recorded  in  the 
Bible.  "  The  purity  of  his  life  and  his  serenity  in  the  hour 
of  death  have  been  the  admiration  of  all,  and  many  prom- 
inent Christians  take  pleasure  in  associating  Socrates  with 
Jesus."  When  near  his  end— having  been  unjustly  con- 
demned to  die— he  addressed  his  weeping  judges,  and, 
with  other  exalted  remarks,  said :  "  Wherefore,  O  Judges, 


THE  HBATUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ail 


be  of  good  cheer  about  death,  and  know  this  of  a  trufh, 
that  no  evil  can  happen  to  a  good  man,  either  in  life  or 
after  death.  He  and  his  are  not  neglected  by  the  Gods ; 
nor  has  my  own  approaching  end  happened  by  mere 
cliance.  But  I  see  clearly  that  to  die  and  be  released  is 
better  for  me."*  What  an  example  of  hope  and  resigna- 
tion for  orthodox  fanatics ! 

With  these  we  have  a  Plato,  whose  **  sublime  philoso- 
phy" has  been  eulogized  by  scholars  in  every  age,  and 
whose  writings,  it  is  said,  '*  consist  in  that  grand  union  of 
abstract  thought,  imaginative  decoration,  emotional  pur- 
ity, and  noble  activity,  which  is  the  model  of  a  complete 
and  richly  endowed  humanity."  Read!  these  are  his 
words:  "God  is  truth,  and  light  is  His  shadow."  "The 
perfectly  just  man  would  be  he  who  should  love  justice 
for  its  own  sake,  not  for  the  honors  or  advantages  that 
attend ;  who  would  be  willing  to  pass  for  unjust  while  he 
practiced  the  most  exact  justice;  who  would  not  suffer 
himself  to  be  moved  by  disgrace  or  distress,  but  would 
continue  steadfast  in  the  love  of  justice,  not  because  it  is 
pleasant,  but  because  it  is  right." 

These  great  pagans  are  but  a  few  of  the  excellent  of  the 
earth,  who  knew  nothing  of  a  "Divine  Revelation,"  but 
whose  great  minds  conceived  a  morality  never  surpassed.! 
The  propagandist  priests  of  Christianity  have  been  ever 
ready  to  point  out  the  foibles,  and  to  magnify  the  errors 
of  these  prominent  men,  and  to  convict  them  of  licen- 
tiousness and  inhumanity.  They  are  not  free  from  cen- 
sure—the wisest  men  have  erred— but  they  are  far  from 
being  so  depraved  as  it  is  the  interest  of  the  Church  to 
make  them  appear.  They  found  it,  no  doubt,  necessary- 
like  some  philosophers  and  scientists  at  the  present  day— 
to  show  an  appearance  of  conformity  to  a  religion  or 
superstition  in  which  many  of  them  had  but  little  faith, 


*  Nearly  600  years  afterward  St.  Paul  is  said  to  have  written: 
die  is  gain." 

t  See  Note  11. 


To 


t  [•: 


'  ■] 


I 


:    I 

H 


212 


THE  HEATUENU  OF  THE  HEATH. 


',■'• ' 


yet  with  all  the  charges  that  have  been  urged  against 
them,*  they  will  not  appear  the  more  degraded  by  a  con- 
trast of  their  most  glaring  errors,  or  even  their  imputed 
crimes,  with  the  gross,  debasing  licentiousness,  and  terri- 
ble inhumanity  of  a  Moses,  an  Aaron,  a  Joshua,  a  BaviU, 
and  a  Solomon ;  besides  a  hundred  others  of  thebepraiseu 
kings,  priests,  and  prophets  of  the  "book  of  books," 
whose  maxims  and  whose  morals,  if  exhibited  in  the  lives 
and  actions  of  men  at  the  present  day,  would  be  pro- 
nounced contaminating  to  society.  What  ideal  excel- 
lence have  we  even  now  that  is  not  in  some  way  a  filtra- 
tion of  the  grand  thoughts,  or  the  development  of  tho 
embryonic  conceptions  of  the  pagan  of  other  days  ?  How 
lar  in  advance  of  them  are  we  in  mental  or  material  pro- 
gres?  They  have  scarcely  left  us  anything  to  originate; 
our  greatest  discoveries  are  perhaps  but  mere  traces  of  tho 
lost  arts.  Besides  the  hundred  gates  they  have  thrown 
open  that  we  may  visit  an  intellectual  Thebes,  besides  the 
metaphysical  hieroglyphics  which  they  have  left  us  to 
decipher,  they  have  given,  with  innumerable  sages,  and 
many  amazing  structures,  the  seven  wise  men  of  Greece, 
and  the  seven  wonders  of  the  world.  Pagan  and  unbe- 
lievers! What  might  the  world  have  gained  if  there  had 
been  more  of  such?  What  errors,  what  inhumanity,  what 
bloodshed,  and  what  sorrow  might  have  been  escaped, 
had  men  been  guided  by  the  simple  philosophy  of  unpre- 
tending heathens,  instead  of  having  been  mystified  by 
creeds,  or  demoralized  by  the  crude,  contradictory  bewil- 
dering pages  of  so-called  inspiration ! 

But  although  these  excellent  men  have  long  passed 
away  they  are  still  gratefully  remembered ;  no  one  can 
fairly  establish  even  a  doubt  as  to  their  existence.    They 

•  The  evidences  of  Christianity  must  be  in  a  laboring  condition 
indeed,  if  they  require  us  to  imagine  that  a  Cicero,  Tacitus,  or  Pliny 
were  worshipers  of  gods  of  wood  or  stono ;  or  to  force  on  our  appre- 
hensions such  a  violence  as  that  we  should  imagine  that  the  mighty 
mind  that  had  enriched  the  world  with  Euclid's  Elements  of  Geome- 
try, could  have  bowed  to  the  deities  of  Euclid's  Egypt  and  worshiped 
leeks  and  crocodiles.— Rev.  R.  Taylor  "  Diegesis,"  p.  14 


IU£  UEATUEXS  OF  TUB  HEATH. 


213 


were  real  characters ;  there  was  nothing  mythical  about 
their  race  or  their  origin.    Where  they  lived,  and  wliat 
they  said,  and  what  they  wrote,  ar^  matters  of  certainty. 
Can  the  same  assurance  ever  be  given  as  to  the  existence 
of  the  several  "  sacred  writers,"  or  plagiarists,  and  proph- 
ets, and  apostles,  and  saints,  to  whom  is  attributed  the 
authorship  of  the  various  books,  or  tracts,  compo.^ing  tho 
Bible,  and  whom  the  orthodox  extol  above  all  others  as 
exemplars  of  virtue  ?    Doubt  has  ever  cast  its  deepest  shad- 
ow upon  prophecy,  and  miracle  and  in8piration.  The  belief 
of  many  unbelievers  is  mostly  a  continued  struggle  with 
reason.    Fiction  seems  to  be  the  principal  constituent  of 
ecclesiastical  records.    The  most  deceptive  web  of  error  is 
that  which  has  a  golden  selvage  of  truth;  and  what  is 
theology  but  a  patchwork  of  truth  and  fiction,  of  wisdom 
and  absurdity  ?    In  this  reasoning,  scientific  and  i)ractical 
aj?e,  the  number  is  fast  increasing  who  can  neither  believe 
in  Isaiah's  predictions  nor  in  Daiiiors  wild  visions;  who 
eannot  conceive  that  Joshua  ever  made  the  sun  stand  still 
upon  Gibeon,  or  that  the  moon  ever  remained  stationary 
in  the  valley  of  Ajalon;   who  will  not  believe  that  the 
witch  of  Endor  ever  raised  the  prophet  Samuel,  or  that 
Nebuchadnezzar  "ate  grass  like  an  ox,"  or  that  Baalam's 
ass  ever  uttered  a  word.    They  consider  the  legend  relat- 
ing to  the  labors  of  Hercules  just  as  credible  as  the  naru- 
tive  concerning  the  strength  of  Sampson ;  the  war  with 
Jupiter  and  the  Giants  just  as  likely  to  have  occured  as 
the  war  with  Lucifer  in  heaven ;  and  the  story  of  Phae- 
ton's wild  horses  rushing  toward's  the  earth  just  as  prob- 
able as  the  ascent  of  Elijah's  fiery  chariot  in  the  opposite 
direction ;  and  still  in  this  utter  disbelief  such  skeptics 
neither  expect  to  become  the  victims  ol"  an  incensed  Jupi- 
ter nor  Oi  an  incensed  Jehovah. 

In  polemical  difficulties,  equivocation  is  often  as  neces- 
sary as  pretension  for  Doctors  of  Divinity.  The  virtues  of 
ancient  pagans  have  been  so  well  established  that  some 
who  boastingly  assert  that  there  can  be  no  morality 
without  the  Bible,  have  been  obliged  to  concede— in  order 


t  Wb  t\ 


214 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I, 

4: 


ha' 


to  support  this  priestly  notion— that  several  of  these 
renowned  pagans  were  actually  Christians— yes  Christians 
before  Christ !— and  the  religion  which  they  practised  was 
really  Christianity  in  a  kind  of  disguise.  Yet  do  not  many 
consider  that  Christianity  is  even  still  the  disguise  of  an 
older  creed ;  still  nothing  more  than  th3  *'  Buddhism  of 
the  WeGt,"  for  its  prominent  doctrines  are  inculcated  in 
the  Vedas,  and  several  of  the  remarkable  incidents  con- 
nected with  the  life  of  the  Hindoo  Savior  Christna,  are 
repeated  in  those  which  are  remarkable  in  the  life  of 
Christ.*  As  the  record  of  Christna  dates  back  ages  before 
the  alleged  time  of  Christ,  can  it  be  asked  which  of  the 
incidents  referred  to  are  entitled  to  priority— which  tho 
imitation?  Clark,  a  prominent  Christian  writer,  in  his 
*' Evidences  of  Natural  and  Revealed  Religion,"  states: 
"Some  of  the  an cientest  writers  of  the  Church  have  not 
scrupled  expressly  to  call  the  Athenian  Socrates,  and  some 
others  of  the  best  of  the  heathen  moralists,  by  the  name 
of  Christians,  and  to  affirm,  that  as  the  law  was  as  it  were 
a  schoolmaster  to  bring  the  Jews  unto  Christ,  so  true 
mora]  philosophy  was  to  the  Gentiles  a  preparation  to 
receive  the  gospel."    P.  284. 

Clemens  Alexandrinus,  one  of  the  early  Christians,  also 
says :  *'  And  those  who  lived  according  to  the  Logos  were 
really  Christians,  though  they  have  been  thought  to  be 
Atheists,  as  Socrates  and  Heraciitus  were  among  the 
Greeks,  and  such  as  resembled  them." 

And  then  we  have  other  important  admissions  of  tho 
"Christian  Fathers,"  and  writers,  such  as  that  of  the 
shrewd,  unscrupulous  Origen,  who,  unable  to  detract  from 
the  excellent  lives  and  maxims  of  certain  heathens,  suys : 
''For  God  revealed  these  things  unto  them,  and  what- 

*  Such  as  the  incarnation  of  Christna,  born  of  a  virgin,  the  adora- 
tion of  shepherds,  the  escape  of  the  mother  and  child  from  tho  tyrant 
Kansa,  the  slaughter  of  male  children  by  the  same  tyrant,  etc.,  etc. 
Sir  William  Jones,  the  great  writer  on  India,  says;  "  That  the  namo 
of  Christna  and  the  general  outline  of  his  history  were  long  anterior 
to  the  birth  of  our  Bavior.  and  probably  to  the  time  of  Homer,  wo 
know  vary  certainly." 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


215 


to 


ever  things  have  been  well  spoken."  And  Lactantius 
writes :  "And  if  there  had  been  any  one  to  have  collected 
the  truth  that  was  scattered  and  diffused  [by  pagans] 
among  sects  and  individuals,  into  one,  and  to  have  reduc- 
ed it  to  a  system,  there  would  indeed  have  been  no  differ- 
ence between  him  and  us."  "What  then?  and  do  the 
philosophers  recommend  nothing  like  the  precepts  of  the 
gospel  ?  Yes,  indeed,  they  do  very  many,  and  often  ap- 
proach to  truth ;  only  their  precepts  have  no  weight,  as 
being  merely  human,  and  devoid  of  that  greater  and 
divine  authority ;  and  nobody  believes  because  the  hearer 
thinks  himself  as  much  a  man  as  he  who  prescribes  them." 
Lactant,  Libs.  3  and  7. 

And  of  Cicero's  works  Arnobius  says :  '*  And  if  Cicero's 
works  had  been  read  as  they  ought  to  have  been  by  the 
heathens,  there  would  have  been  no  need  of  Christian 
writers."  Yet,  further,  hear  the  grand  admission  of  St. 
Augustine :  "  For  the  thing  itself  which  is  now  called  the 
Christian  Religion  really  was  known  to  the  ancients,  nor 
was  wanting  at  any  time  from  the  beginning  of  the  liuman 
race  until  the  time  when  Christ  came  in  the  flesh,  from 
whence  the  true  religion,  which  had  previously  existed, 
began  to  be  called  Christian ;  for  this  in  our  days  is  the 
Christian  religion,  not  as  having  been  wanting  in  former 
\imes,  but  as  having  in  later  times  received  this  name."— 
Augus.  Vol.  1,  P.  12.* 

These  admissions  so  distinctly  stated  by  leaders  in  the 
Christian  Church  ought  to  be  ample  proof  that  the  purest 
morality  existed  before  the  pages  of  the  Bible  were  known 
to  man.  India,  said  to  be  the  cradle  of  humanity,  civiliza- 
tion, and  religion,  derived  its  excellent  precepts  from  the 
Vedas— the  Rig  Veda  is  acknowledged  to  be  the  oldest 
sacred  literary  work  in  existence— and  from  these  books 


■ri 


*  So  pure  were  the  doctrines  of  many  of  the  andent  philosophers 
that  they  were  accounted  fit  to  be  incorporated  with  those  of  Chris- 
titinity.  Moshelm  says :  "  The  coalition  between  Platoism  and  Chris- 
tianity, in  the  seoond  and  third  trenturies.  is  a  fact  too  fully  proved  to 
be  rendered  dubious  by  more  aflirraations."— Vol.  l,  P.  170, 


216 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  numerous  religions  of  the  world  have  derived  their 
various  "Incarnations,"  and  "Saviors,"  and  "Trinities," 
and  "Plans  of  Salvation;"  from  these  books  all  their 
doctrines  have  been  deduced— this  is  unquestionable.  Sir 
William  Jones,  himself  a  Christian,  acknowledged  to  be 
perhaps  the  best  authority  on  India,  writes  of  the  primi- 
tive religion:  "A  spirit  of  sublime  devotion,  of  benesro- 
lence  to  mankind,  and  of  amiable  tenderness  to  all  sentient 
creatures,  pervades  the  whole  work  [Institutes  of  Menu] ; 
the  style  of  it  has  a  certain  austere  majesty  that  sounds 
like  the  language  of  legislation,  and  extorts  a  respectful 
awe;  the  sentiments  of  independence  on  all  beings  but 
God,  and  the  harsh  admonitions  even  to  kings,  are  truly 
noble;  and  the  many  panegyrics  on  the  Gyatu,  tho 
mother,  as  it  is  called,  of  the  Yeda,  proved  the  author 
to  have  adored  (not  the  visible  material  sun  but)  that 
divine  and  incomparable  greater  light,  to  use  the  words 
of  the  most  venerable  text  in  the  Indian  scriptures,  which 
illumines  all,  delights  all,  from  which  all  proceed,  to 
which  all  must  return,  and  which  alone  can  irradiate  (not 
our  visual  organs  merely  but)  our  souls  and  our  intel- 
lects." 

And  John  Adams,  in  a  letter  to  Thomas  Jefferson,  says : 
'•  Where  is  to  be  found  theology  more  orthodox  or  philos- 
ophy more  profound  than  in  the  introduction  to  the 
Shasta?  'God  is  one  creator  of  one  universal  sphere, 
without  beginning,  without  end.  God  governs  all  the 
creation  by  a  general  providence  resulting  from  his  eter- 
nal designs,' etc.  These  doctrines— sublime  If  ever  there 
were  any  sublime— Pythagoras  learned  in  India,  and 
taught  them  to  Zallucus  and  his  other  disciples." 

In  "Forbes'  Oriental  Memoirs,"  the  Hindoo  character 
is  thus  represented:  "Piety,  obedience  to  superiors,  res- 
ignation in  misfortune,  charity,  hospitality,  filial,  parental 
and  conjugal  affection,  are  among  the  distinguishing  char- 
acteristics of  the  Hindoos." 

And  Persia,  too,  had  its  morality.  The  Zend  Avesta  is 
its  inspired  book,  and  a  Oiiristian  bishop  speaks  thus  in 


TH£  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


217 


its  favor:  "The  morality  of  the  Zoud  Avesta  is  entitled 
to  praise ;  purity  of  word,  action  and  thought,  is  repeat- 
edly inculcated.  To  multiply  the  human  species,  increase 
its  happiness,  and  prevent  evil,  are  the  general  duties 
inculcated  by  Zoroaster  to  his  disciples ;  agriculture  and 
the  multiplication  of  the  useful  arts  are  particularly  recom- 
mended to  them."  Butler's  Horo  Biblicce.  Sir  William 
Jones  also  adds  his  testimony  :  **  The  primeval  religion 
of  Iran,  if  we  may  rely  on  the  authorties  adduced  by 
Monsani  Fani,  was  that  which  Newtown  calls  the  oldest 
(and  it  may  justly  be  called  the  noblest)  of  all  religions ; 
a  firm  belief  that  *  One  supreme  God  made  the  world  by 
His  power,  and  continually  governs  it  by  His  providence ; 
a  pious  fear,  love  and  adoration  of  Him ;  and  due  rever- 
ence for  parents  and  aged  persons ;  a  fraternal  affection 
for  the  whole  human  species;  and  a  compassionate 
tenderness  for  the  brute  creation.' "  Here  is  a  text  from 
the  book  itself :  *'  Opposition  to  peace  is  a  sin.  Rei'ly  to 
thine  enemy  with  gentleness." 

China  and  Japan  were  rich  in  moral  teachings.  Con- 
fucius and  Mencius,  the  Chinese  philosophers,  were 
apostles  of  truth  who  preached  a  gospel  never  yet  sur- 
passed, and  though  their  maxims  have  adorned  "  inspira- 
tion," and  though  they  have  been  cannonized  by  the 
great  high  priests  of  every  land,  still  they  made  their  own 
teachings  subservient  to  the  moral  doctrines  that  existed 
even  before  their  time.  The  people  of  Japan,  known  as  a 
"friendly  race,"  are  approved  for  their  filial  conduct, 
and  for  their  great  industry  and  cleanliness.  As  to  the 
alleged  barbarism  of  these  people,  a  Rev.  gentleman  in  a 
work  lately  published,  ironically  observes:*  "I  have 
wished  a  hundred  times  since  coming  to  Japan  that  we 
could  import  into  our  own  and  some  other  civilized  coun- 
tries a  measure  of  this  want  of  civilization,  or  barbarism, 
or  whatever  one  may  choose  to  call  it."  And  as  to  their 
shameful  treatment  by  Christian  nations,  he  says :    **  The 


,M 


'  'ri  ? 


•  Rev.  E.  D.  O.  Prime.  D.D.-*'  Around  the  World."  1878. 

10 


t 

it        1.1 

It         -f 


I  i 


1  ! 


i  { 


I!' 


Nf 


218 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Christian  world  owes  a  heavy  debt  to  those  heathen 
nations  which  have  suffered  so  much  at  the  hands  of 
Christian  governments." 

Egypt,  ancient  Egypt,  may  well  boast  of  civilization; 
the  most  obstinate  clerical  fanatic  can  do  but  little  indeed 
with  the  puny  opposition  he  might  bring  against  the 
claims  of  this  once  gre&t  nation.  It  may  be  said  that,  in 
many  respects,Egypt  towered  above  most  other  countries, 
just  as  the  pyramid  towers  above  the  desert.  Of  this 
land,  RoUin  the  historian,  writes :  '*  Egypt  was  ever  con- 
sidered by  all  the  ancients  as  the  most  renowned  school 
for  wisdom  and  politics,  and  the  source  from  whence  most 
of  the  arts  and  sciences  were  derived.  This  kingdom 
bestowed  its  noblest  labors  and  its  finest  arts  on  the 
improvement  of  mankind;  and  Greece  was  so  sensible  of 
this,  that  its  most  illustrious  men,  as  Homer,  Pythagoras, 
Plato,  even  its  great  legislators,  Lycurgus  and  Solon,  with 
more  whom  it  is  useless  to  mention,  traveled  into  Egypt 
to  complete  their  studies,  and  to  draw  from  that  fountain 
whatever  was  most  rare  and  valuable  in  every  kind  of 
learning." 

As  for  Greece,  and  Rome,  all  history  bears  evidence  to 
their  past  greatness.  Nearly  every  one  of  their  pagan 
heroes  and  heroines  seem  to  have  been  characters  of  the 
highest  human  excellence.  They  were  not  frightened 
into  virtue  by  theology. 

Where  can  we  find  men  more  desirous  of  doing  justice 
and  benefiting  tho  human  race  than  Socrates  or  Plato,  or 
more  exemplary  than  Lycurgus  or  Cincinnatus  ?  Where 
can  we  find  chastity  to  surpass  that  of  Lucretia ;  or  honesty 
that  of  Aristides ;  or  disinterestedness  that  of  Timoleon  ? 
And  now,  after  all  the  wild  shouting  of  our  modern  clergy, 
have  their  contending  creeds  produced  better  results  for 
the  world  at  large  than  those  arising  from  paganism  or 
unbelief?  Are  Christian  priests  better  men  than  their 
pagan  predecessors?  Have  the  Christian  clergy  shown 
more  self-denial,  or  more  disregard  for  wealth,  and  posi- 
tion, and  authority  than  the  expounders  of  the  Vodas,  tho 


THE  HEA.THEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


219 


Zend  Avesta,  or  even  the  Koran  ?    And  the  great  question 
on  the  whole  may  be,  has  Christianity,  alone  and  unaided, 
made  men  more  intelligent,  more  truthful,  more  trusty, 
more  dignified,  more  contented  and  more  humane  than 
paganism  left  them;  has  it,  as  the  popular  religion  of 
Europe  and  America,  diminished  more  poverty  and  crime, 
or  lessened  the  evils  of  war,  or  produced  a  higher  regard  for 
human  life;  has  the  slaughter  almost  constantly  occur, 
ing  during  the  last  eighteen  hundred  years,  equalled  or 
•exceeded  that  under  paganism  during  any  previous  period 
of  the  same  duration  ?    Enormous  as  the  cost  of  the 
Christian    religion  is  at  the   present  day— extortionate 
assepsments  or  demands  to  pay  the  ecclesiastical  incomes 
of  popes,  cardinals,  arch-bishops,  deans,  rectors,  mode- 
rators, curates,  and  the  remaining  vast  swarm  of  the 
clergy  of  all  denominations  seeking  maintenance ;  incess- 
ant demands  /or  the  erection  of  grand  cathedrals  and 
palatial  churches,  and  for  the  circulation  of  Bibles  and 
tracts ;  and  increasing  demand  for  missionary  and  other 
similar  purposes— enormous  as  these  assessments    and 
demands  really  are,  they,  after  all,  fall  short  of  the  mil- 
lions required  and  expended  by  Christian  nations  for  the 
dreadful   purposes  of  war;   the  Christian    clergy,   who 
assume  to  be  men  of  peace,  or  who  contribute  little  or 
nothing  to  the  taxes  imposed  for  the  creation  and  support 
of  hostile  fleets  and  invading  armies,  are  yet  among  the 
first  to  urge  others  to  engage  in  bloody  strife,  and  submit 
to  the  exaction,  even  though  asylums,  and  hospitals,  and 
chi.  ritable  institutions,  should  at  the  same  time  be  lan- 
guishing for  necessary  supplies.    Doubters  will  still  ask : 
What  has  Christianity  done  for  the  nations  ?    What  is 
Athens  now  to  what  it  was  in  the  the  time  of  Pericles? 
Whether  was  Eome  greatest  in  its  Augustan,  or  in  its 
Pontifical  age. 

Notwithstanding  the  overwhelming  evidence  which  can 
be  adduced  to  prove  that  the  standard  of  morality  is  but 
little,  if  at  all,  In  advance  of  what  it  was  eighteen  hun- 
dred years  ago,  oeleetial  envoys  such  as  Seth  Graham, 


||ti<< 


J  Vi> 


k 


J  »i-  -• :  ^  rf 

:  i 

1  "f  I  ,   If 

it         '{ 
!  it 

!^:;    i 

:  B»  ■    ■  ■  :  i 
'  t      ^    If. 


fil ;  f 


U 


I.  ] 


220 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Missionary  unable  to  disprove  the  existence  of  justice,  and 
integrity  at  that  period,  will  pertinaciously  assert  that  the 
minds  of  men  in  the  early  ages  had  been  impregnated 
with  the  morality  of  the  Old  Testament,  without  whic;h 
mankind  would  have  been  in  the  most  deijlorable  condi- 
tion. Old  Testament!  It  were,  perhaps,  better  not  to 
give  special  instances  of  what  that  morality  consisted; 
it  were  better  not  to  quote  from  the  "  inspired  "  record  of 
the  lives  of  some  of  the  elect  of  those  terrible  times,  their 
obscenities,  their  inhumanities  or  their  savage,  wanton 
butcheries.  Morality?  Shocking!  One  instance  may 
suffice;  read  the  life  of  the  '*  Psalmist"— called,  "the  man 
after  God's  own  heart,"  and  if  any  pagan,  since  or  before 
his  reputed  time,  has  proved  more  w' eked,  more  sensual, 
more  abandoned,  more  treacherous,  and  more  inhumanly 
cruel  than  the  illustrious  King  Pavid,  then  history  is  but 
fable. 

To  be  plain,  nothing  but  the  most  daring  disregard  for 
strict  accuracy,  or  the  most  overwhelming  idea  of  self- 
righteousness,  can  still  urge  certain  ministers  of  the 
gospel  to  repudiate  the  goodness  that  is  natural  to  man- 
kind ;  for  it  is  positively  false  to  assert  that  man  is  by 
nature  either  "totally  depraved,"  or  "devilish."  After  all 
the  foolish  cavilling  as  to  the  existence  of  morality  without 
the  Bible,  Christian  writers  of  undoubted  authority  admit 
and  fully  provi  that  the  excellence  of  the  morality  of  the 
ancient  world  was  alone  sufficient  for  the  guidance  of 
men— the  ethics  of  "inspiration  "  being  no  way  superior, 
and  certainly  not  original.  Those  who  lived  in  the  early 
ages  of  the  world  were  possessed  of  human  feelings  as  well 
as  of  human  forms ;  they  had  an  affectionate  regard  for 
their  parents,  their  wives  and  their  children ;  they  could 
be  faithful  to  their  friends  and  magnanimous  to  enemies ; 
they  could  pity  the  suffering,  could  weep  with  those  that 
wept,  and  shed  tears  of  sorrow  over  the  graves  of  those 
who  had  departed ;  they  were  as  industrious,  as  kind,  as 
benevolent,  as  humane,  and  altogether  as  virtuous  as 
people  of  modern  times;  there  was  then,  perhaps,  even 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


less  selfishness  among  men  than  there  is  at  present. 
It  is  stated  that :  "  Among  the  primitive  nations  of  the 
world  alms-giving  was  inculcated  as  a  religious  observance, 
and  is  prescribed  as  such  in  their  religious  books."  "In 
early  times  Athens  could  boast  of  having  no  citizen  in 
want,  nor  did  any  disgrace  the  nation  by  begging."  An 
Athenian  decree  provided  for  the  maintenance  of  those 
who  had  been  mutilated  in  battle,  and  for  the  children  of 
those  who  fell.  Among  the  Romans  chariiable  legislation 
was  frequent ;  the  holding  of  land  was  limited  as  to  ex- 
tent, and  those  who  had  none  got  a  portion  to  cultivate. 
(How  much  such  legislation  is  needed  at  the  present  da^' !) 
Grain  was  distributed  to  the  poor,  first  at  a  reduced  rate, 
but  afterwards  gratuitously ;  and  it  Is  said  that  the  most 
distinguished  Roman  senators  exercised  their  talents  by 
speaking  in  public  in  behalf  of  the  poor  and  oppressed ; 
and  while  the  most  humble  citizen  was  not  forgotten  by 
the  nation,  children  were  trained  to  be  regardful  of  their 
parents,  and  education  was  considered  highly  necessary. 
As  the  dissension  and  cruel  strife  long  existing  among 
the  different  Christian  denominations  are  a  matter  of 
world-wide  notoriety,  it  may  now  be  well  to  inquire  how 
the  pagan  or  philosophical  sects  of  ancient  times  lived 
together.  The  following  extracts  relating  to  those  people 
are  admitted  to  be  correct.  Gibbon,  the  historian,  says : 
"In  their  writings  and  conversation  the  philosophers 
of  antiquity  asserted  the  independent  dignity  of  reason ; 
but  they  resigned  their  actions  to  the  command  of  law  and 
custom.  Viewing  with  a  smile  of  pity  and  indulgence  the 
various  errors  of  the  vulgar,  they  dilligently  practiced  the 
ceremonies  of  their  fathers,  devoutly  frequented  the  tem- 
ples of  the  gods ;  and  sometimes  condescending  to  act  a 
part  in  the  theatre  of  superstition,  concealed  the  senti- 
ments of  an  atheist  under  the  sacerdotal  robe.  It  was  in- 
dififerent  to  them  what  shape  the  folly  of  the  multitude 
might  choose  to  assume;  and  they  approached  with  the 
same  inward  contempt  and  the  same  external  reverence 
to  the  altars  of  the  Lybian,  the  Olympian,  of  the  Capito- 


lOtiHt'J 


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822 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


r. 


line  Jupiter."  Moslieim,  the  Christian  historian,  also 
says:  "One  thing  indeed,  appears  at  first  sight  very  re- 
markable—that the  variety  of  religions  and  gods  in  the 
heathen  world,  neither  produced  wars  nor  dissensions 
among  the  different  nations."  "Each  nation  suffered  its 
neighbors  to  follow  their  own  method  of  worship,  to 
adore  their  own  gods,  to  enjoy  their  own  rites  and  cere- 
monies, and  discovered  no  displeasure  at  the  diversities  of 
sentiments  in  religious  matters.  They  all  looked  upon 
the  world  as  one  great  empire,  divided  into  various 
provinces,  over  every  one  of  which,  a  certain  order  of 
divinities  presided,  and  that,  therefore,  none  could  behold 
with  contempt  the  gods  of  other  nations  or  force  strang- 
ers to  pay  homage  to  theirs." 

And  alluding  to  the  toleration  allowed  in  the  ancient 
Roman  empire,  Mosheim  further  adds:  "The  Romans 
exercised  this  toleration  in  the  amplest  manner,  for 
though  they  would  not  allow  any  change  to  be  made  in 
the  religion  of  the  empire,  nor  any  new  form  of  worship 
to  be  openly  introduced,  yet  they  granted  to  their  citizens 
a  full  liberty  of  observing  in  private,  the  sacred  rites  of 
other  nations,  and  of  honoring  foreign  deities  (whose 
worship  contained  nothing  inconsistent  with  the  interests 
and  laws  of  the  republic)  with  feasts,  temples,  consecrated 
groves  and  the  like  testimonials  of  homage  and  respect." 
(Ecc.  hist.) 

And  Renan  says :  "We  may  search  in  vain  the  Roman 
law  before  Constantino  for  a  single  passage  against  free- 
dom of  thought,  and  the  history  of  the  imperial  govern- 
ment furnishes  no  instance  of  a  prosecution  for  entertain- 
ing an  abstract  doctrine."  (Hist.  Apostles,  p.  259.)  What 
a  sad  contrast  with  the  toleration  of  Christian  govern- 
ments. 

Mosheim  thus  inquires :  "A  very  natural  curiosity  calls 
us  to  inquire  how  it  happened  that  the  Romans  who  were 
troublesome  to  no  nation  on  account  of  its  religion,  and 
vvho  suffered  even  the  Jews  to  live  under  their  own  laws 
and   follow  their  own  method  of  worship,  treated  the 


<-^«v 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


223 


Christians  alone  with  such  severity.  A  principal  reason 
of  the  severity  with  which  the  Romans  persecuted  the 
Christians  notwithstanding  those  considerations,  seems  to 
have  been  the  abhorrence  and  contempt  felt  by  the  latter 
for  the  religion  of  the  empire,  which  was  so  intimately  con- 
nected with  the  form  and  indeed  with  the  very  essence  of 
its  political  constitution ;  for  though  the  Romans  gave  an 
unlimited  toleration  to  all  religions  which  had  nothing 
dangerous  to  the  commonwealth,  yet  they  would  not  per- 
mit that  of  their  ancestors  which  was  established  by  the 
laws  of  the  land,  to  be  turned  into  derision,  nor  the  people 
to  be  drawn  away  from  their  attachment  to  it."  (Ecc. 
Hist.) 

The  ten  persecutions  alleged  to  have  taken  place 
under  Roman  emperors  are  now  admitted  by  impartial 
Christian  historians  to  be  ten  exaggerations.  Even  al- 
lowing that  there  were  twenty  such  persecutions  what 
would  the  total  number  destroyed  be,  compared  to  the 
actual  thousands  slaughtered  by  Christians  in  contesting 
some  particular  Christian  doctrine ;  how  few  compared  to 
the  vast  number  by  Christians  during  the  crusades ;  and 
when  we  consider  the  millions  destroyed  to  establish 
Papal  supremacy,  and  the  number  of  Protestants  slaught- 
ered by  Protestants,  the  Christians  destroyed  by  Roman 
persecutions  would  be  an  almost  insignflcant  collection. 

Referring  to  the  ten  persecutions  which  certain  Chris- 
tian writers  assert  have  taken  place.  Gibbon  says ;  *'  The 
ingenious  parallels  of  the  ten  plagues  of  Egypt,  and  the 
ten  horns  of  the  Apocalypse,  first  suggested  this  calcula- 
tion to  their  minds."  And  a  late  writer  says:  **In  the 
fourth  century,  no  settled  theory  of  the  number  of  per- 
secutions seems  to  have  been  adopted,  Lactantius  reck- 
ons up  but  six."    (Cham.  Enc.) 

If  the  following  account  is  reliable  what  a  fiendish  sys- 
tem an  intelligent  pagan   must  consider  Christianity: 
"From  the  rise  of  popery  in  606,  to  the  present  time,  it  ia 
estimated  by  careful  and  credible  historians  that  more 
than  FIFTY  MILLIONS  of  the  human  family  have  been 


u> 


CI    I 


r  : 


II 


Jr 


224 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


)     i 


!l. 


X 


1 1 


it 


»ii 


slaughtered  for  the  crime  of  heresy— an  average  of  more 
than  forty  thousand  religious  murders  for  every  year  of  the 
existence  of  Popery."  In  a  note  added  to  this  we  have 
stated :  **  A  million  of  Waldenses  perished  in  France ;  nine 
HUNDRED  THOUSAND  orthodox  Christians  were  slain  in  less 
than  thirty  years  after  the  institution  of  the  order  of 
Jesuits.  The  Duke  of  Alva  boasted  of  having  put  to  death 
in  the  Netherlands  thirty-six  thousand  by  the  hand  of  the 
common  executioner  during  the  space  of  a  few  years. 
The  Inquisition  destroyed,  by  various  tortures,  one  hun- 
dred AND  fifty  thousand  within  thirty  years."* 

Now,  if  we  had  the  "  actual  figures  "  of  those  who  have 
been  unmercifully  dealt  with  by  fanatical  Protestants— of 
those  who  have  been  persecuted  by  Puritans,  and  tortured 
by  "Pilgrim  Fathers,"  or  butcher|fl  by  other  furious 
zealots  of  the  Reformed  Church,  would  not  the  great 
aggregate  of  victims  be  woeful  ?  Is  there  no  one  who  can 
weep  for  the  crimes  of  this  Christian  Church  ?  Is  there 
no  one  who  can  blush  for  its  still  shameless  pretensions  ? 
Hush— what  a  fearful  picture !  Is  there  no  one  who  can 
blot  out  this  infernal  record  against  outraged  humanity? 

Alluding  to  the  manner  in  which  heathenism  is  gen- 
erally spoken  of  by  Christian  ministers  and  people,  the 
Rev.  Robert  Taylor  remarks :  *'  As  it  would  not  be  fair  to 
take  up  our  notion  of  the  Christian  religion,  from  the 
lowest  and  most  ignorant  of  its  professors,  and  still  less 
perhaps,  to  estimate  its  merits,  by  the  representations 
which  its  known  and  avowed  enemies  would  be  likely  to 
give ;  the  balance  of  equal  justice  on  the  other  side,  will 
forbid  ever  forming  our  estimate  of  the  ancient  paganism 
from  the  misconceptions  of  its  unworthy  votaries,  or  the 
interested  detractions  and  exaggerations  of  its  Christian 
opponents. 

The  only  just  and  honorable  estimate  will  be  that  which 
shall  judge  of  paganism  as  Christians  would  wish  their 
own  religion  to  be  judged— by  its  absolute  documents,  by 

*  Dowley's  Hist  of  Bomarisra,  p.  542.  and  note  Scott's  Ch.  Hist. 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEAXU. 


fiii 


the  representations  of  its  adrocates,  and  the  admissions 
of  its  adveraaries. 

When  it  is  borne  in  mind  that  a  supernatural  origina- 
tion or  divine  authority  is  not  claimed  for  these  systems 
of  theology,  there  can  be  no  occasion  to  fear  their  rivalry, 
or  encroachment  on  systems  founded  on  ouch  a  claim; 
and  still  less  to  vituperate,  and  scandalize  those,  as 
any  means  of  exalting  or  magnifying  those.  There  can- 
not be  the  least  doubt  that  in  dark  and  barbarous  ages, 
the  rude  and  unlettered  part  of  mankind  would  grossly 
pervert  the  mystical  or  allegorical  sense,  if  such  there 
were,  in  the  forms  of  religion  propounded  to  their  obser- 
vance or  impose  on  their  simplicity,  while  it  is  impossible 
that  those  enlightened  and  philosophical  chara-  ors,  who 
have  left  us  in  their  writings  the  most  undoubted  evidence 
of  the  greatest  shrewdness  of  intellect,  extent  of  inquiry 
and  goodness  of  heart,  should  have  understood  their  the- 
ology in  no  better  or  higher  significance  than  as  it  was 
understood  by  the  ignorant  of  their  own  persuasion,  or 
would  be  represented  by  their  enemies,  who  had  the 
strongest  possible  interest  in  defaming  and  decrying  it. 
When  the  worst  is  done  in  this  way,  Christianity  would  be 
but  little  the  gainer  by  being  weighed  in  the  same  scales. 
Should  we  be  allowed  to  fix  on  the  darkest  day  of  her 
eleven  hundred  years  of  dark  ages,  and  to  pit  the  grossest 
notion  of  the  grossest  ignorance  of  that  day,  as  specimens 
of  Christianity,  against  the  views  which  Christians  have 
been  generally  pleased  to  give  as  reprosentations  of  pa- 
ganism, how  would  they  abide  the  challenge?  Look  on 
this  picture  and  on  this." 

Notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  done  by  mission- 
aries, notwithstanding  the  "running  to  and  fro,"  "the 
preaching  of  repentance."  and  the  scattering  of  thous- 
ands of  Bibles  alT  over  the  earth,  the  Brahmin  is  still 
steadfast  in  his  faith  and  he  still  prizes  the  morality  and 
the  beautiful  precepts  of  the  Vedas  when  he  can  read 
therein :  '*  He  who  gives  alms  goes  to  the  highest  place 
in  heaven ;  he  goes  to  the  gods."    "  Any  place  where  the 


M 


nU 


i  ft 


.tfi: 


'■■    If 


';i  i 


i 


226 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


mind  of  man  can  be  undiBturbed  is  suitable  for  the  wor- 
ship of  the  Supreme  Being."  The  vulgar  look  for  their 
gods  in  water ;  the  ignorant  think  they  reside  in  wood, 
bricks,  and  stones;  men  of  more  extended  knowledge 
seek  theirs  in  celestial  orbs;  but  wise  men  worship  the 
universal  soul."  "The  way  to  eternal  beatitude  is  open 
to  him  who  without  omission  speaketh  the  truth."  "  As  a 
thousand  rays  emanate  from  one  flame,  thus  do  all  souls 
emanate  from  the  One  Eternal  Soul,  and  return  to  him.'* 

And  the  Buddhist  disregarding  all  other  creeds,  believes 
that  he  has  all  truth  when  he  reads  in  the  sacred  word  of 
Buddha.  *'  As  the  bee  collects  nectar,  and  departs  without 
injuring  the  flower,  or  its  color,  or  perfume,  so  let  the 
sage  dwell  on  earth."  "Like  a  beautiful  flower,  full 
of  color,  but  without  perfume,  are  the  fine  but  fruitless 
words  of  him  who  does  not  act  accordingly."  "As  on  a 
heap  of  rubbish  cast  upon  the  highway,  the  lily  will 
grow,  full  of  sweet  perfumes  and  delightful,  thus  the  disci- 
ple of  the  truly  enlightened  Buddha  shines  forth  by  his 
knowledge  among  those  who  are  like  rubbish,  among  the 
people  that  walk  in  darkness."  "  Cut  out  the  love  of  self 
like  autumn  lotus,  with  thy  hand!  Cherish  the  road  to 
peace."  "  He  whose  evil  deeds  are  covered  by  good  deeds 
brightens  up  this  world  like  the  moon  free  from  clouds." 

O,  philosophers,  can  ye  tell  who  alone  has  wisdom? 
O,  ye  priests  of  a  hundred  sects,  if  ye  cannot  reconcile 
your  conflicting  creeds,  can  ye  prove  to  the  world  who 
alone  has  truth  ? 


CHAPTER    XXI. 


TRICKS  OF  TRADE. 


•> 


A  FTER  every  hurried  search  and  inquiry  for  the  fugi- 
-^^  tives  had  proved  ineffectual,  Seth  Graham,  Mission- 
ary, in  spite  of  his  holy  calling,  felt  greatly  annoyed  by 
the  treacherous  disappearance  of  his  fancied  converts.  A 
short  time  before  he  had  left  Bombay  he  had  written  to 
one  of  the  principal  secretaries  of  the  Missionary  Society 
in  Ireland,  mentioning  the  necessity  of  his  early  return 
on  account  of  the  ill  health  of  himself  and  his  wife,  and 
he  had  also  given  a  rather  generous  account  of  his  success 
among  the  heathen.  He  modestly  intimated  that  many 
of  the  natives  had  already  given  the  most  touching  expres- 
sions of  regret  at  his  intended  departure,  and  that  living 
evidences  of  his  spiritual  triumphs  would,  he  trusted, 
soon  be  exhibited  on  a  missionary  platform  in  both  Eng- 
land and  Ireland.  Upon  receipt  of  this  intelligence, 
certain  ministers  at  home  took  the  earliest  opportunity  of 
announcing  the  same  from  their  pulpits,  and  certain  of 
the  missionary-mad,  both  lay  and  clerical,  rubbed  their 
hands  in  joyful  anticipation  of  the  rich  treat  that  was  in 
store  for  pious  free-givers ;  and  these  ministers  also  trust- 
ed to  have  an  opportunity  of  witnessing  the  discomfiture 
of  the  penurious  few  who  were  always  throwing  doubts 
upon  the  utility  of  missions  to  the  heathen,  and  predict- 
ing that  future  results  among  such  would  be  no  better 
than  the  past. 
Seth  Graham  well  knowing,  from  the  nature  of  his 


,  i:''4 


im 


M 


fi-.^! 


Irr 


t..»B 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


!    ? 


communication  to  tils  friends  at  home,  that  such  announce- 
ment would  be  made  to  expectant  congregations,  was 
really  mortified  at  the  manner  in  which  he  felt  himself 
jilted,  as  it  were,  just  as  he  fancied  himself  almost  certain 
of  receiving  the  honors  of  a  clerical  triumph,  and  it  sorely 
puzzled  his  inventive  faculty  to  Snd  a  way  out  of  the  awk- 
ward position  in  which  he  had  been  placed  by  the  desertion 
and  evident  apostasy  of  the  Hindoo  woman,  who,  he 
expected,  would  corroborate  his  assertions  as  to  the  neces- 
sity for  missions  to  India,  as  to  the  increasing  power  of 
the  go§pel,  and  the  extended  influence  of  Christianity 
among  those  who  were  once  worshipers  of  wood  and  stone ; 
and  he  of  course  also  expected  that  she  would  point  to 
him  before  all  as,  in  a  manner,  her  spiritual  deliverer 
from  the  demons  of  a  cruel  and  debasing  superstition. 

That  person  is  scarcely  mortal  who  is  entirely  indifferent 
to  praise  from  his  fellow  man,  particularly  when,  in  his 
own  opinion,  he  has  done  something,  little  or  much,  to 
deserve  it.  Praise  is  an  honorary  reward  suitable  to  per- 
sons of  every  degree ;  it  is  the  sunshine  in  which  the  hum- 
ble can  bask  as  well  as  the  exalted,  and  Mr.  Graham,  like 
most  other  ministers  of  the  gospel,  under  the  impression 
that  his  peculiar  talents  had  advanced  **  the  cause,"  had  a 
yearning  for  popularity,  and  would  like  to  be  hailed  in  a 
well  crowded  church,  or  to  stand  uncovered  before  a  fash- 
ionable assembly  of  wealthy  Christiai  s,  and  to  receive 
their  well  earned  plaudits.  Many  a  night  during  his  long 
voyage  home,  did  this  retiring  missionary  comfort  him- 
self with  the  idea  of  suoh  a  reception,  even  in  his  dreams 
he  could  often  hear  the  congratulations  of  his  friends,  and 
at  times  in  his  night  visions,  he  could  see  the  beautiful 
faces  and  glowing  smiles  of  the  Christian  ladies  who  seem- 
ed to  flutter  around  him  like  celestial  butterflies,  while  he 
in  his  humble  pride  sat  perched  like  a  bird  of  Paradise 
upon  one  of  the  highest  branches  of  the  towering  cedars 
of  Lebanon.  And  often,  during  the  day,  many  an  hour 
would  be  spent  while  he  and  his  wife  would  converse 
about  such  pleasing  probabilities  in  anticixmtion  of  an 


THE  HEATHEMB  OF  THE  HEATH. 


229 


agreeable  reunion ;  for  with  the  credentials  which  he  had 
now  in  his  possession,  was  it  possible  that  he  could  expect 
any  thing  else  than  the  most  distinguished  greeting  ? 

But  now,  alas,  what  a  change !  Seth  Graham  sat  aside 
by  himself  like  one  in  despair,  totally  crest-fallen;  he 
spolce  but  little  to  his  wife  or  to  any  one  else,  while  she, 
poor  woman,  tried  to  assure  him  by  stating  that  perhaps 
the  Hindoo  lady  might  have  had  some  reason  to  remain 
behind  for  a  time,  and  that  in  all  probability  both  she  and 
her  nephew  would  proceed  after  them  to  Ireland.  Mrs. 
Graham  recommended  her  husband  to  leave  his  address 
and  to  ask  some  pious  friends  in  the  neighborhood  to 
keep  a  look  out  for  the  fugitives,  and  if  they  should  be 
discovered  to  urge  them  to  follow.  The  missionary  had, 
however,  but  little  hope ;  he  had  a  strong  impression  that 
he  had  been  grossly  deceived,  and  that  neither  he  nor  his 
wife  would  ever  again  lay  eyes  on  the  absconding  converts. 
He  had  intended  to  make  a  short  stay  in  London,  but 
under  the  present  circumstances  he  thought  it  best  to  go 
on  at  once  to  Irelaud,  and  in  the  meantime  he  would  try 
and  frame  some  excuse  for  the  non-appearance  of  his  Hin- 
doo friends,  and  put  the  best  face  on  the  matter  by  making 
the  most  he  could  of  the  Parsee  girl,  Sheva. 

Perplexed,  however,  as  he  had  been,  his  reception  in 
Belfast  was  after  all  most  gratifying.  It  had  been  made 
known  through  certain  Presbyterian  journals  and  other 
Protestant  papers,  that  the  Kev."  Seth  Graham— they  used 
the  objectionable  prefix,  Keverend— the  self  sacrificing 
missionary,  was  soon  expected  ;  that  he  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  India  in  consequence  of  impaired  health;  that 
during  his  stay  in  that  oppressive  climate,  he  had  been 
unceasing  in  his  arduous  labors,  and  as  a  proof  of  his 
great  success,  would  bring  to  his  native  country  certain 
converted  Pagans  whom  he  had  turned  trom  idolatry  to 
the  worship  of  the  true  God.  This  report  having  been 
thoroughly  circulated  by  pulpit  and  press,  in  less  than  a 
week  after  his  arrival,  an  immense  assemblage  greeted 
him  in  one  of  the  largest  churches  in  Belfast.    There 


ii.'^^ll 


I'f 


t     ''. 


230 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ii 


I 


4! 


might  not,  perhaps,  have  been  so  many  persons  present 
on  this  great  occasion  had  it  not  been  well  understood 
that  Seth  Graham  would,  in  person,  present  to  the  people 
the  Hindoo  and  the  Parsee  converts,  who,  it  was  said,  had 
urgently  solicited  him  to  take  them  to  his  own  country ; 
and  though  for  several  days  before  the  evening  on  which 
the  exhibition  was  to  take  place,  many  of  the  ministers 
had  been  informed  that  the  Hindoo  woman  had  been 
obliged  to  remain  for  a  time  in  England,  and  that  only 
the  Parsee  girl  would  appear,  yet  this  information  was  not 
made  known  to  the  public ;  it  was  considered  an  innocent 
stroke  of  policy  to  keep  this  to  themselves,  else  the  sight- 
seers might  be  disappointed  and  the  want  of  this  great 
attraction  might  bring  them  but  a  very  meagre  attend 
ance,  and  the  amount  to  be  collected  for  future  missionary 
operations  might  be  scarcely  more  than  enough  to  defray 
the  expenses  of  the  evening.* 

For  a  day  or  two  before  the  meeting  Seth  Graham  and 
his  wife  did  their  best  to  make  their  Parsee  convert, 
Sheva,  understand  what  she  was  required  to  do  and  say 
on  the  coming  occasion,  and  the  girl  being  sufficiently 
intelligent,  was  not  a  little  gratifled  at  the  important  part 
which  she  was  expected  to  sustain. 

The  evening  came  at  last ;  the  missionary  platform  was 
as  usual  occupied  by  several  ministers  and  wealthy  friends 
of  the  gospel,  and  the  church  was  crowded  with  well  dress- 
ed ladies,  whose  aid  on  such  occasions  is  of  singular 
potency.  The  secretary  read  the  report.  A  very  large 
sum  had  been  collected  during  the  past  year,  and  though 
several  extra  expenses  had  been  incurred,  still  the  amount 
received  had  been  a  little  more  than  sufficient  to  meet  all 
demands;  this  was  most  gratifying,  and  reflected  the 
greatest  credit  upon  the  Beverend  managers.  The  great- 
est economy  had,  however,  to  be  practised,  the  cause  was 


•  A  Methodist  minister  not  long  since  in  announcing  from  the  pul- 
pit that  a  missionary  mooting  would  be  held,  stated— as  an  attraction 
—that  certain  very  prominent  and  influential  preachers  wwuld  be 
present,  when  he  well  knew  at  the  time  that  they  could  not  attend. 


« 


'1    ! 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


331 


one  of  the  noblest— indeed  the  very  noblest— in  which  man 
could  be  engaged.  The  conversion  of  the  heathen  was  a 
charge  left  by  the  Great  Ruler  to  Christian  men,  and  God 
would  hold  his  ministers  responsible  for  the  performance 
of  this  most  important  duty ;  and  those  members  of  the 
Church  who  had  wealth  at  their  disposal  would  be  called 
to  a  dread  account  on  the  day  of  General  Judgment  if  they 
selfishly  withheld  the  means  so  particularly  needed  for 
Missions.  It  might  be,  and  it  had  been  alleged  that  there 
was  both  poverty  and  ignorance  in  their  own  country,  but 
poverty  could  be  borne ;  penury  never  yet  jeopardized  a 
man's  soul— ignorance  of  God's  Holy  Word  must  result  in 
eternal  misery.  It  had  been  stated  that  Ireland  was 
afflicted  with  Popery,  and  that  the  ignorance  and  servility 
resulting  from  it  were  fraught  with  danger  to  free  institu- 
tions, and  many  believed  it  to  be  as  great  an  evil  to  socie- 
ty in  general  as  the  most  degrading  superstition  of  India. 
These  objections,  now  becoming  so  frequent,  were  really 
superficial ;  while  being  urged  as  having  a  basis  of  reason, 
they  were  simply  side  blows  against  foreign  missions ;  but 
as  long  as  God's  ministers  were  aware  of  their  vast 
responsibility  they  would  never  cease  to  urge  Christian 
men  to  hold  out  the  glorious  Bible,  that  grand  old  beacon 
light,  to  the  millions  of  human  beings  struggling  in  the 
black  darkness  of  Paganism.  Popery,  though  compara- 
tively an  evil,  was  not  perhaps  entirely  fatal  to  all  who 
had  a  sincere  belief  in  its  efficacy.  The  most  eminent 
Protestant  reformers  had  admitted  that  Bomanism  had 
some  portion  of  truth ;  that  while  papists  bowed  to  images, 
kissed  relics,  and  worshiped  the  Virgin,  they  still  worship- 
ed the  Son,  the  Savior  of  men,  and  that  therefore  those 
who  had  even  a  corrupt  Christianity  were  better  off  than 
those  who  had  no  Christianity  at  all.* 


i: 


m 


*      ,    h': 


m 


''Si 


*  At  a  missionary  meeting  held  at  Toronto,  Canada,  in  the  "  Met- 
ropolitan" Wesleyan  church,  January  6th,  1873,  Eev.  Dr.  Punshon 
said:  '*  He  desired  active  sympathy  for  this  Japanese  mission.  The 
missionary  cause  was  the  guage  of  a  church's  health  and  vigor,  and 
he  could  point  in  the  direction  of  that  distant  land  for  their  help  as 
indicated  almost  by  Divine  intelligence.    He  had  a  warm  regard  for 


:f   I 


232 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


J!^ 


"    1 


After  two  or  three  ministers  had  reiterated  the  senti- 
ments expressed  in  the  report,  Mr.  Graham,  in  apparent 
good  health,  was  received  with  cheers.  The  address  which 
he  had  prepared  ga\e  the  usual  orthodox  repetition  of  the 
condition  of  the  heathen  world,  of  their  ignorance,  their 
superstition,  and  their  degradation.  The  Brahmins  were 
said  to  be  impostors,  the  Buddhists  were  illiterate,  tlie 
Mohammedans  fiendish,  and  the  people  generally  igno- 
rant, squalid,  poverty  stricken,  and  brutal.  He  had  seen 
unfortunate  widows  forced  to  sacrifice  themselves  in  the 
SutteO;  had  seen  fanatics  immolate  themselves  under  the 
car  wheels  of  Juggernaut,  and  had  seen  naked,  raving 
fakiis  almost  tear  the  fiesh  from  their  very  bones;  the 
people  on  the  whole  were  in  a  most  deplorable  condition ; 
there  was  neitb^r  charity,  nor  chastity,  nor  scarcely  human 
feeling  among  them,  they  were,  simply  sensual  and  devil- 
ish ;  though  many  of  them  pretended  an  aversion  to  good 
beef,  yet  he  feared  that  many  others  were  little  better 
than  cannibals;  and,  were  it  not  for  British  control,  hU' 
man  life  would  be  insecure ;  were  it  not  for  self-sacrificing 
missionaries,  were  it  not  for  such  resolute  spirits  as  Carey, 
and  Duff,  and  Ward,  Satan  would  reign  triumphant  over 
the  whole  land.  Dark,  however,  as  this  picture  was,  he 
assured  them  that  the  Gospel  was  doing  wonders  in  India ; 
thousands  were  casting  aside  their  idols,  an.',  were  now 
willing  to  serve  the  true  God.  He  had  hoped,  he  said,  to 
be  able  to  give  them  the  assurances  of  adult  persons  who 
—he  humbly  said  it— had  been  led  to  the  truth  by  his 
instrumentality,  but  as  the  Hindoo  lady  and  her  nephew, 
who  had  accompanied  him  from  India,  had  been  obligetl 
to  remain  for  a  time  in  England,  he  trusted  to  be  able,  on 
some  future  occasion,  to  induce  her  to  tell  them  of  her 
change  of  heart,  and  of  what  God's  word  had  done  for  her 


the  Home  missions  and  especially  those  for  Lower  Oanada  (for  the 
conversion  of  French  Catholics)  but  he  held  that  they  were  better  off 
who  had  a  corrupt  Christianity  than  those  who  had  no  Christianity 
at  all."  Strange  thatother  Protestant  ministers  should  assf^rt  Popery 
to  be  a  more  dangerous  error  than  Puiifanism  or  even  unbelief. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


233 


,  to 

who 

his 

lew, 

ged 

on 

her 

her 


and  hers.  In  conclusion,  he  urged  them  to  be  true  to  the 
great  missionary  cause,  and  not  to  forget  the  millions 
under  condemnation  of  original  sin,  who  were  yet  spirit- 
ually destitute,  but  to  strengthen  God's  hand  by  sending 
out,  at  any  cost,  or  at  any  sacrifice,  zealous  servants  of 
the  Lord  to  the  perishing  heathen. 

Like  most  of  the  assertions  made  upon  missionary 
platforms,  there  was,  of  course,  some  truth  in  the  obser- 
vations of  Mr.  Graham,  and  much  exaggeration,  which 
was  really  more  telling  upon  the  rather  credulous  assem- 
blage than  truth  itself ;  and  then  to  heighten  the  effect  of 
what  had  been  stated,  a  few  idols  and  trinkets  were  exhib- 
ited, and  after  this  the  Parsee  girl  was  smilingly  led  for- 
ward for  the  edification  of  all.  Sheva  was  dressed  in  her 
native  costume,  she  was  decorated  with  a  profusion  of 
rings  and  jewelry,  much  of  which  was  extraneous,  added 
by  Mrs.  Graham,  in  her  simple  desire  to  produce  an  effect. 
The  girl's  appearance  was  graceful,  and  her  manner  inno- 
cent, and  when  she  stood  out  before  all,  there  was  much 
pushing,  and  crowding,  and  stretching  of  necks,  and  she 
seemed  somewhat  abashed  until  Mr.  Graham  whispered  a 
few  words  in  her  ear,  and  while  he  still  held  her  hand,  she 
spoke  a  few  words  in  broken  English— which  she  had  been 
made  to  practice  for  the  occasion : 

"  Me  Christin  friends,  me  little  Parsee  girl  very  glad  to 
see  you  all.  Me  love  you  all  in  dis  place  in  Irelan',  an'  in 
Englan'  too.  Me  greatly  love  my  good  fader  Grame,  an' 
my  good  mudder  Grame  wid  him  too.  Me  love  de  Lor', 
an'  you  love  de  Lor'  too.  Me  leave  my  friends  an'  my 
nice  home  to  come  here  wid  my  good  fader  an'  my  good 
mudder  Grame,  me  can't  not  stay  without  dem.  I  love  de 
Lor',  an'  I  love  you  all  in  my  heart.  Tink  of  my  poor 
friends  in  Bombay,  send  dem  de  missoner,  an*  send  dem 
de  wor'  of  de  Lor',  too." 

After  the  delivery  of  this  rehearsed  prattle  in  a  very 
hesitating  manner,  the  girl  made  a  low  bow,  and  was  led 
aside  by  her  **  good  fader  Grame,"  while  the  audience,  as 
if  struck  with  wonder  at  this  evidence  of  precocity  so 


111' 


tk'k 


*.' 


t» 

i. 
I' 


I 


>i/[ 


'll' 


r 


!l 


h 


jl 


i: 


iii' 


234 

evangelical,  awarded  her  their  warm  and  grateful  ap- 
plause. 

It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  this  meeting  was  considered 
a  great  success :  a  large  sum  had  been  collected  to  advance 
•*  the  cause  "  in  India,  even  to  send  a  missionary  in  the 
place  of  Mr.  Graham.  He  himself  was  in  an  excellent 
mood,  and  so  highly  favored  was  he,  that  in  a  few  days 
after  this  missionary  reception,  he  had  the  good  fortune  to 
be  inducted  as  minister  to  a  congregation  in  Belfast. 
Being  still  of  a  restless  disposition,  and  grown  rather 
more  aggressive,  simple  preaching  was  not  sufficient  to 
satisfy  his  clerical  longings  for  notoriety.  Popery  still 
raised  its  audacious  head  in  his  native  land,  and  now 
again  he  thought  that  a  temporizing  government  had  not 
only  tolerated  this  evil,  but  had  actually  sustained  it  and 
its  Maynooth  professors  by  public  grants ;  that  it  was  the 
duty  of  every  loyal  Protestant—especially  of  protestant 
•ministers— to  proclaim  increasing  hostility  against  every- 
thing Popish ;  and,  as  he  had  learned  by  experience,  that 
it  was  almost  useless  to  produce  what  he  and  many  others 
deemed  unanswerable  texts  and  arguments,  either  against 
the  man  of  sin,  or  against  many  of  the  prevailing  theo- 
logical errors,  he  believed  that  something  more  like  mus- 
cular arguments  were  indispensable,  and  as  Orangeism 
had  a  leaning  in  that  direction,  he  became  a  member  of 
that  society,  and  was  soon  afterward  elected  a  kind  of 
district  chaplain,  and  in  his  visits  to  sundry  lodges,  he 
caused  much  excitement  and  evoked  a  strong  anti-Popish 
spirit  at  a  time  when  the  government  was  most  anxious  to 
suppress  Orange  celebrations,  particularly  in  Ireland; 
and  in  defiance  of  proclamations,  either  from  the  Lord 
Lieutenant,  or  from  the  Queen  herself,  he  continually 
urged  the  Orangemen  to  be  true  to  their  principles,  and 
not  be  afraid  of  either  Pope  or  devil,  to  turn  out,  one  and 
all,  and  display  their  colors  upon  the  ever  glorious  Twelfth. 


»       m 


CHAPTER   XXII. 


WAVEBINQ   FAITH. 


vrTELL,  on  the  day  after  the  late  Orange  celebration, 
^*  Seth  Graham,  weather  bound  like  others,  stood 
gloomily  at  his  window,  looking  up  occasionally  at  the 
Divis  ridges  now  dimly  visible  in  the  leaden  sky,  and 
then  at  the  lowering  clouds;  ,he  was  annoyed  by  the 
continuous  rain,  now  streaming  down,  now  lightening  a 
little  but  to  disappoint  him  again ;  he  wished  like  others 
to  get  out  and  to  have  an  opportunity  of  visiting  some  of 
his  wounded  friends,  and  like  others  perhaps  to  feast  his 
eyes  upon  the  blackened  ruins  of  the  Popish  church. 

His  wife,  a  delicate  looking  little  woman,  sat  near  him, 
they  had  been  conversing  about  the  unhappy  incidents  of 
the  Twelfth.  She,  of  a  gentle  and  humane  disposition, 
had  utterly  disapproved  of  the  bloodshed  that  had  taken 
place,  and  of  the  destruction  of  the  building.  He,  in  evi- 
dent angry  mood,  had  justified  all,  and  while  he  had  been 
denouncing  Romanism,  and  uttering  the  most  uncharit- 
able sentiments  against  that  system,  the  Parsee  girl,  She- 
va,  who  had  been  sitting  half  asleep  on  the  carpet  in  the 
middle  of  the  room,  had  listened  to  his  loud  words  and 
seemed  surprised  at  his  vehemence.  She  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  now  at  Mrs.  Graham's  thin,  pale  face,  now  at 
Graham  who  with  gloomy  espression  still  looked  out  at 
the  window ;  and  she  glanced  at  him  from  time  to  time  as 
if  partly  afraid  of  her  spiritual  parent.  He  was  a  man  of 
iiHMliuui  height,  rather  slightly  built,  his  face  was  sallow, 


II 

iSii  B 

i 

mm 

I 


■■*♦•! 


III 


236 


THE  HCATHENS  OF  THE  HBA.TH. 


I 


]iis  eyes  dark  and  sunken,  and  his  lank  black  hair,  now 
touched  with  grey,  was  parted  in  the  middle,  giving  him  a 
kind  of  sanctimonious  appearance.  He  was  one  whose 
religious  zeal  was  an  over  match  for  his  discretion,  and 
like  certain  biblical  heroes,  he  could  ignore  human  impul- 
ses and  commit  an  atrocious  act  were  he  under  the  impres- 
sion that  by  so  doing  he  was  performing  the  Lord's  work 
or  serving  His  cause.  As  he  had  hitherto  done  little  either 
among  Catholics  in  Ireland  or  Hindoos  in  India,  he  now 
felt  it  his  duty  to  re-commence  an  agitation  against  Pope- 
ry, His  opinions  had  greatly  changed  as  to  the  method  of 
procedure  with  false  systems.  About  the  time  of  his 
ordination  he  believed  in  argument  and  moral  suasion, 
but  now  after  his  return  and  his  long  experience  he  was 
inclined  to  believe  that  where  reason  and  argument  were 
inefifective  to  crush  down  error,  actual  force  if  need  be 
should  be  used.  And  though  he  was  ready  to  preach 
against  the  Inquisition  and  Papal  persecution,  he  would 
not  hesitate  to  use  any  means — even  the  most  violent— to 
undermine  Popery  and  to  prostrate  the  man  of  sin.  The 
pure  gospel  he  believed  could  and  would  do  much,  and 
faith  alone  could  remove  mountains.  There  was  a  time 
in  his  life  when  Seth  Graham  verily  believed  that 
prayer  with  faith  was  all  that  was  necessary  to  ac- 
complish anything— even  to  enable  the  believing  Chris- 
tian to  perform  actual  miracles  — to  walk  upon  the 
water,  to  remove  the  mountains,  or  to  raise  the  dead. 
He  had  known  many  sterling'  believers  who  would  exult- 
ingly  tell  of  the  faith  "of  Gideon,  and  of  Barak,  and  of 
Sampson,  and  of  Jeptha ;  of  David  also,  and  Samuel,  and 
of  the  prophets,"  and  who  at  the  same  time  believed  that 
the  promise  was  still  for  them,  and  that,  even  in  these 
latter  times,  they  could  through  faith,  quench  the  violence 
of  fire,  escape  the  edge  of  the  sword,  and  put  to  flight 
armies  of  aliens— but  alas !  in  his  long  experience  the  reli- 
ance of  Seth  Graham  had  been  somewhat  shaken,  for  he 
had  seen  many  of  such  who,  while  vainly  hoping  to  the  last, 
still  "  died  in  the  faith,  not  having  received  the  promises." 


ses. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


98T 


It  was  to  him,  then,  one  of  the  most  perplexing  myste- 
ries of  theology  why  there  should  be  promises  so  positive 
and  yet  so  unreliable.  Had  he  not  prayed  for  the  down- 
fall of  Popery,  for  the  conversion  of  the  heathen,  and  for 
the  speedy  and  general  spread  of  the  gospel— all  as  it 
seemed  to  little  purpose.  Popery,  he  admitted,  appeared 
to  be  sinking  under  the  weight  of  its  own  infamy,  but  as 
for  the  real  and  permanent  conversion  of  Pagans,  notwith- 
standing all  that  had  been  done  he  had  but  little  hopes ; 
and  though  he  still  believed  in  the  efficacy  of  frequent 
prayer,  and  had  still  some  trust  in  gospel  promises,  he  was 
verily  of  opinion  that  other  means  were  necessary,  and  in 
order  to  remove  the  mountain,  faith  must  be  aided  by 
some  lever  more  powerful  than  an  ordinary  invocation. 
These  were  his  own  private  views  which  it  would  never, 
never  answer  to  publish  to  the  world.  Esoteric  opinions 
so  dangerous  might  be  whispered  only  to  certain  of  the 
initiated ;  he  was  cautious  enough  to  breathe  them  only  to 
his  wife. 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Anne,"  he  continued,  addressing  Mrs. 
Graham,  **  forbearance  may  be  a  virtue,  but  after  one  ex- 
hausts every  text  in  the  Bible  asrainst  Popery,  and  finds  it 
to  little  purpose,  I  believe  in  takingf  other  means.  I  don't 
regret  the  killing  off  of  a  score  or  two  of  Papists  should  it 
serve  as  an  example— they  were  the  aggressors.  I  don't 
care  for  the  destruction  of  their  Mas  3  House  if  it  is  likely 
to  effect  any  good ;  and  I  wouldn't  care  a  straw  if,  before 
the  next  Twelfth  of  July,  every  Popish  temple  in  the  king- 
dom was  tumbled  to  the  ground.  That's  the  right  way  to 
deal  with  false  systems.  Psha !  for  prayer  and  moral  force 
with  such  glaring  frauds  on  Christianity  I  Naked  heath- 
enism is  nearer  the  truth.'** 

"But  that's  not  the  scriptural  way,  Seth,  to  deal  with 
error,"  said  his  wife  in  a  tone  of  mild  reproof. 

**Yes,  yes,  the  scriptural  way,  the  true  Bible  method," 
retorted  Mr.  Graham.  "The  only  way  to  eradicate  evil 
sometimes  is  to  destroy  it  root  and  branch." 

*  See  Note  12. 


"% 


j» 


h     I 


"1 

'■  '  ■U 

:       1    !,. 

1 

'1 

I 


, 


I 


m 


at. 


m 


m 

I 

I^HIk   '%c 

^H 

«.' 

m 

II. 

n 

|i 

H 

^Hl 

1i^ 

1 

r 

liiSl 

THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

"I  doubt  it,  Seth,  I  doubt  it;  God  would  be  more  mer- 
ciful," again  urged  Mrs.  Graham. 

"  Would  He  ?  Through  the  mouth  of  Moses  did  not  the 
Lord  God  say  to  idolators :  *  They  have  moved  me  to  jeal- 
ousy with  that  which  is  not  God ;  they  have  provoked  me 
to  anger  with  their  vanities :  For  a  fire  is  kindled  in  mine 
anger,  and  shall  burn  unto  the  lowest  hell,  and  shall  con- 
sume the  earth  with  her  increase,  and  set  on  fire  the 
foundations  of  the  mountains.  I  will  heap  mischief  ui)on 
them ;  I  will  spend  mine  arrows  upon  them.  They  shall  be 
burnt  with  hunger,  and  devoured  with  burning  heat,  and 
with  bitter  destruction.  I  will  also  send  the  teeth  of 
beasts  upon  them,  with  the  poison  of  serpents  of  the  dust. 
The  sword  without  and  terror  within,  shall  destroy  both 
the  young  man  and  the  virgin,  the  suckling  also  with  the 
man  of  grey  hairs.'*  There's  scripture  for  you,  wife. 
What  can  you  say  to  that  ?  " 

**If  it  is,  Seth,"  said  Mrs.  Graham  after  a  little  reflec- 
tion, "  the  Lord  is  patient  and  long  suffering.  It  is  not 
His  pleasure  to  destroy." 

"  Is  it  not  ?  "  said  Mr.  Graham  sharply.  "  Let  us  see. 
How  did  he  treat  the  rebellious  under  Korah,  Dathan,  and 
Abiram?  'The  earth  opened  her  mouth  and  swallowed 
them  up.  And  there  came  out  a  fire  from  the  Lord  and 
consumed  two  hundred  and  fifty  men  that  offered  in- 
cense.'t  And  those  of  the  congregation  that  afterwards 
murmured  against  Moses  for  this  dispensation  were  cut 
off  at  once  by  a  plague  to  the  number  of  fourteen  thous- 
and seven  hundred."^  He  paused  for  a  moment,  but  his 
wife  made  no  reply.  "And  further,"  continued  he,  **  did 
not  the  Lord  order  the  destruction  of  the  Midianites? 
Hear  the  word :  'And  the  Lord  spake  unto  Moses,  saying, 
Avenge  the  children  of  Israel  of  the  Midianites.  And  they 
warred  against  the  Midianites  as  the  Lord  commanded 
Moses;  and  they  slew  all  the  males.    And  they  slew  the 

•  Deuteronomy,  Chap.  32,  v.  21  to  25. 
t  Numbers,  Chap.  16.  v.  32  and  36. 
t  Numbere.  Qbap.  le.  49. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


239 


kings  of  Midian,  besides  the  rest  of  them  that  were  slain ; 
namely  Evi,  and  Rekem,  and  Zur,  and  Hur,  and  Rcba,  five 
kings  of  Midian :  Balaam  also  the  son  of  Boor  they  slew 
with  the  sword.  And  the  children  of  Israel  took  all  the 
women  of  Midian  captives,  and  their  little  ones,  and  took 
the  spoil  of  all  their  cattle,  and  all  their  flocks,  and  all  their 
goods.  And  they  burnt  all  their  cities  wherein  they  dwelt 
and  all  their  goodly  castles,  with  fire.'  This,  Anne,  Wu.3 
the  Lord's  method  of  retaliation ;  even  afterwards  when 
the  conquerors  returned  to  the  presence  of  Moses  he  ask- 
ed them:  "Have  ye  saved  all  the  women  alive? 'and 
being  of  course  answered  in  the  affirmative,  what  was  the 
further  command?  *Now,  therefore,  kill  every  male 
among  the  little  one?,  and  kill  every  woman  that  hath 
known  man  by  lying  with  him.  But  all  the  women-child- 
ren that  have  not  known  a  man,  by  lying  with  him,  keep 
alive  for  yourselves.'*  There,  Anne,  that's  scripture  also, 
and  none  can  deny  it,  and  if,  to  a  limited  extent,  following 
the  example  of  the  select  children  of  God,we  have  destroy- 
ed in  self-defence  a  score  or  so  of  idolatrous  papists,  and 
burnt  one  of  their  strongholds,  I  ask  if  we  have  not  suffi- 
cient authority  for  cutting  off  the  enemies  of  the  Lord  and 
of  his  people  ?  " 

After  another  pause  Mrs.  Graham  slowly  replied :  "Yet 
I  would  in  these  days  let  the  Lord,  if  He  so  wills,  be  His 
own  avenger." 

"  In  these  days  ?  "  sharply  replied  Mr.  Graliam,  who 
seemed  to  grow  more  determined.  "All  time  is  alike  to 
the  Lord ;  He  is  the  same  yesterday,  to-day  and  forever, 
without  variableness  or  shadow  of  turning,  and  what  He 
did  in  olden  time  He  will  do  again.  He  cared  not  to  show 
relenting  pity  to  transgressors— He  gave  them  the  full 
measure  of  justice.  His  command  is  positive :  'And  thine 
eye  shall  not  pity,  hut  life  shall  go  for  life,  eye  for  eye, 
tooth  for  tooth,  hand  for  hand,  foot  for  foot. '+    The  thous- 

•  Numbers.  Chap.  31  to  v.  in- 
t  Deuter.  Obap.  19,  v.  2i. 


ml 


^ 


; 


in---    ■  S'M 


'(M 


f 

It 


240 


THE  HEATHEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


11 


aiids  slaughtered  under  Moses,  and  Aaron,  and  Joshua, 
besides  those  under  David  and  Solomon,  and  others  of  his 
pious  servants,  were  cut  off  as  a  necessity.  The  Lord 
knew  best  how  to  deal  with  His  enemies  when  He  com- 
manded 'But  thou  Shalt  utterly  destroy  them,  namely,  the 
Hittites  and  the  Amorites,  the  Canaanites,  and  the  Periz- 
zites,  the  Hivites,  and  the  Jebusites,  as  the  Lord  thy  God 
hath  commanded  thee.'*  Terrible  as  the  unsanctifled 
declare  these  mandates,  the  Lord  well  knew  that  showing 
mercy  to  enemies  is  often  the  grossest  injustice  towards 
friends." 

Poor  Mrs.  Graham  listened  in  silence,  she  made  no 
reply,  she  dared  not  exclaim  against  the  dreadful  quota- 
tions she  had  lust  heard ;  she  dared  not  murmur  against 
the  very  words  of  inspiration.  Though  the  record  seemed 
inhuman,  she  would  fain  believe  that  the  Lord  was  after 
all  of  more  tender  uiercy  and  compassion  than  evf  the 
word  itself  had  made  Him.  And  struggling  betw(  >er 
humanity  and  her  creed— between  her  benevolent  impul- 
ses and  her  rigid  faith— she  could  have  wept  that  those 
unfortuately  in  error  and  unbelief,  were  still  under  the 
curses  of  tha  law  and  doomed  to  an  eternity  of  misery. 

Mr.  Graham,  noticing  her  depression,  continued  in  a 
milder  tone : 

**  I  tell  you  what,  Anne,  these  denunciations  may  seem 
hard,  but  are  not  the  words  of  the  Lord  as  wise  as  they 
are  inscrutable  ?  If  the  heart  becomes  like  adamant,  it 
must  be  broken  by  heavy  strokes ;  if  line  upon  line,  and 
pr  3ept  upon  precept  remain  unheeded,  other  means  must 
be  used  to  overthrow  error.  It  has  been  so  from  the 
beginning,  and  will  be  so  to  the  end  of  time.  Why,  one 
might  have  preached  for  an  eternity  in  India,  and  the 
Suttee  would  still  remain  an  established  usage,  were  it  not 
for  the  penalties  of  a  prohibitory  law ;  and  here  in  Ire- 
land we  may  scatter  Bibles  and  tracts  by  the  thousand, 
and  the  abominations  of  Popery  will  continue  unless  true 


Deuter,.  Cliap.  20.  v.  17. 


THE  H£ATHEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


241 


believers,  and  loyal  men,  rise  in  their  might  and  crush 
them  under  foot." 

During  most  of  this  conversation,  Sheva  remained  sit- 
ting on  the  carpet,  and  her  large,  lustrous  eyes  seemed 
occasionally  to  grow  larger  while  hearing  a  rehearsal  of 
barbarities  such  as  shoclced  her  naturally  tender  feelings. 
For  Mrs.  Graham,  she  had  a  warm  affection,  but  the  cold, 
harsh,  stern  manner  of  Mr.  Graham  caused  her  to  feel  at 
times  a  dread  of  his  presence ;  for  lately  he  had  grown 
indifferent  toward  the  little  foreigner,  and  his  treatment 
of  her  was  sometimes  more  than  unkind,  as  if  she  had 
become  a  useless  burden.  Whatever  means  had  been 
taken  to  induce  Sheva  to  leave  her  home,  the  girl  now 
appeared  to  have  discovered  that  she  had  done  very 
wrong,  and  at  times  she  cried  bitterly  for  her  parents, 
uttering  their  names  in  the  most  affectionate  manner,  and 
pleading  to  be  taken  home  again.  While  she  had  the  com- 
panionship of  the  Hindoo  boy,  Hemar,  to  whom  she  was 
much  attached,  she  did  not  complain  so  often,  but  since 
the  disappearance  of  him  and  his  aunt,  she  had  become 
more  discontented,  and  were  it  not  for  the  motherly  kind- 
ness of  Mrs.  Graham,  she  would  have  been  very  unhappy. 
Even  as  it  was,  the  minister's  wife  regretted  the  part  she 
had  once  conscientiously  taken  in  aiding  to  induce  Sheva 
to  leave  her  native  country,  and  were  an  opportunity  to 
offer,  she  would  now  have  willingly  made  a  sacrifice  to 
send  her  back. 

After  Mr.  Graham  had  ceased  to  quote  any  further 
Scriptural  denunciations  against  the  so-called  enemies  of 
the  Lord,  Mrs.  Graham,  who  had  noticed  Sheva's  disqui- 
etude, took  her  hand  and  led  her  out  of  the  room  into 
another  apartment.  Sheva  had  a  little  room  to  herself, 
up  stairs,  and  there  she  and  Mrs.  Graham  often  sat 
together.  Mrs.  Graham,  who  took  an  interest  in  trying  to 
explain  the  Scriptures  to  her  young  charge,  often  found  it 
difficult  to  satisfy  her  '^curious  inquiries  on  theological 
subjects.  The  Parsee  girl  was  very  shrewd  and  intelli- 
gent for  her  age,  and  though  inMined  to  conlide  much  in 


•»' 


M    I 


11 


m 


-r 


if- 

I! 


242 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


■•    ~^.   'i 


li 

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> 

^H ''' 

I '' 


^1 


ii 
li 


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SUE 
■MS 


1 


u 


what  Mrs.  Graham  might  tell  her,  she  was  still  very  criti- 
cal,  and  often  expressed  her  dissatisfaction  with  the  ex- 
planation which  she  had  heard  offered.  Mrs.  Graham 
sat  down,  and  Sheva,  being  close  to  her,  as  usual,  said, 
after  a  few  moments'  thought, 

**  O,  ma,  how  can  I  love  your  God  any  longer,  how  can 
I,  after  all  father  has  just  said;  isn't  He  a  very  cruel 
God?" 

"My  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  rather  surprised,  ''you 
must  not  speak  that  way,  God  is  very  good,  very  good 
indeed.    It  would  be  terrible  not  to  love  God." 

""NTo^  ma.  He  is  not  good,"  continued  Sheva,  "for  if 
Re  was  good,  He  would  not  kill  so  many  poor  people,  and 
He  would  not  kill  poor  little  children,  and  little  girls,  and 
burn  der  houses ;  I  could  not  love  you  at  all,  if  you  were 
as  bad  as  your  God  is." 

"Dear  child,  dear  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  "do  not 
say  that,  for  if  you  do,  God  will  be  very  angry,  and  punish 
you  severely." 

"Why  sho\:ld  He  be  angry  with  me  ? "  said  Sheva,  "  it 
seems  to  me  dai  He  is  angry  all  de  time.  I  never  did 
God  any  harm.  Your  God  is  bad,  for  He  won't  forgive 
wicked  peoj)le,  but  burn  dem  up  for  ever,  and  ever,  and 
ever ;  I  could  not  be  as  bad  as  dat,  you  could  not,  for  I'm 
sure  you  could  forgive  dem  sometime  -sooner,  you  know, 
dan  de  long  forever." 

"O!  Sbava,  Sheva,"  said  the  almost  alarmed  Mrs.  Gra- 
ham, "  do  not  speak  so ;  God  is  worthy  of  all  your  love, 
and  of  my  love;  He  is  better  than  any  one;  no  matter 
'hat  He  does,  it  is  all  for  the  best." 

"  Ma,"  rei)lied  Sheva,  "  you  know  it  is  not  for  de  best 
to  burn  poor  people  down  in  dat  bad  place,  called  hell, 
that  Christians  talk  so  much  about.  I  heard  some  Chris- 
tian ladies  say  dat  dere  would  be  no  good  people  in  de 
world  only  for  hel- ;  and  dat  God  made  dat  horrid  place. 
Well,  I  don't  want  to  be  a  Christian  any  longer;  some 
Christians  are  not  like  you,  ma,  but  are  vary  bad  people." 

"Not  a  Christian,  Sheva!"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  still 


iriti- 
s  ex- 
ham 
said, 

7  can 
cruel 

'■'  you 
good 

for  if 

b,  and 
s,  and 
iwere 

io  not 
punish 

a,  "  it 
er  did 
orgive 
r,  and 
or  I'm 
know, 

s.  Gra- 
r  love, 
matter 

de  best 

d  hell, 

Ohris- 

"  e  in  de 

place. 

some 

jople." 


•?. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

more  alarmed,  "  not  a  Christian !  O  Shova,  Sheva,  unless 
you  are  a  CLristian,  you  can  never  get  to  heaven.*' 

"If  deywas  all  like  you,  ma,"  said  Sheva,  ** I  might 
remain  a  Christian,  but  you  know  Christians  are  very, 
very  wicked,  not  so  good  as  Parsees  or  Hinduos,  and  I 
don't  tink  dat  your  God  is  as  good  as  de  great  Ormuzd. 
Christians  fight,  and  get  drunk,  and  steal,  and  kill  one 
anoder  like  dey  did  yesterday.  If  Christians  was  as 
good  as  Parsees,  dere  would  not  be  so  many  beggars  in 
de  streets,  and  so  many  poor  hungry  people  going  about 
wh(  have  no  houses  of  derown;  and  so  many  little  girls 
and  boys,  not  so  big  as  I  am,  going  about  in  rags,  who 
have  no  friends  to  get  dem  anything  to  eat.  O,  ma,  I  do 
pity  dese  poor  little  Christians,  lut  it  seems  to  me  dat 
de  rich  Christian  ladies,  who  come  to  our  church,  with 
such  fine  clothes,  don't  care  for  dese  little  ones.  If  none 
but  Christians  can  get  to  heaven,  I  don't  want  to  go  dere 
—it  must  be  a  very  wicked  place." 

**  Sheva,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  more  seriously,  "  you  are 
really  wicked  to  talk  that  way.  Heaven  is  a  beautiful 
place,  where  God  lives  with  all  His  angels  and  saints,  and 
with  all  the  good  Christian  people  that  have  ever  lived, 
Heaven  is  God's  great  throne,  surro  aided  by  the  blest 
and  the  redeemed  of  all  nations  and  tribes.  Neither  wicked 
people  nor  idolators  can  ever  enter  that  blissful  abode. 
O  Sheva,  you  must  never  again  be  a  Parsee,  they  are  idol- 
ators, and  worship  wood  and  stone ;  it  would  be  better  to 
be  the  poorest  Christian  beggar,  for  such  get  to  heaven 
where  their  sorrows  are  ended  and  where  their  tears  are 
dried  forever." 

"No,  ma,"  replied  Sheva,  solemnly,  "the  Parsees  do 
not  worship  idols,  dey  bow  to  de  sun,  da^  gives  us  light, 
and  to  lire.  My  own  pa,  in  Bombay,  never  told  me  to  bow 
to  an  idol  or  an  image.  Fader  Grame  has  what  he  says 
are  Hindoo  idols,  but  if  Christians  are  not  idolators,  what 
is  dis?"  The  girl  quickly  placed  a  large  family  Bible 
on  the  floor,  and  she  stood  upon  the  book  to  enable  her  to 
reach  a  oruoiflx  which  Mr.  Graham  had  brought  with  him 


l!    4 


I 


241 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


[  ^iiiii 


u 


'{'if: 


M 

III' I 


as  a  kind  of  tropVy  from  the  south  of  Ireland.  The  wood 
was  black  ebony,  and  the  image  pure  silver :  "and  here, 
too,  is  an  image  of  the  Virgin  and  child,  and  here  is  a  pic- 
ture of  a  saint,  and  here  is  a  bottle  of  holy " 

"  Sheva,  Sheva,  for  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  hurriedly 
pushing  the  girl  aside,  **  tor  shame,  see  what  youv'e  done ! 
Why  do  you  stand  on  the  Bible,  God's  Holy  Word?" 
Mrs.  Graham  raised  the  large  book  reverently ;  her  faco 
was  slightly  flushed  with  anger,  and  poor  Sheva  stood 
abashed— she  scarcely  understood  the  nature  of  her  of- 
fence. "  See,"  continued  Mrs.  Graham,  "  this  is  the  Holy 
Bible  that  you  have  been  standing  on— a  thing  you  should 
never  have  done.  But  then,  child,"  said  she,  calming 
down  to  her  usual  mild  way,  **  you  scarcely  knew  the  dif- 
ference ;  yet  remember  for  the  future,  that  this  is  our 
Sacred  Book,  which  should  be  ever  treated  with  the  most 
profound  respect— it  is  God's  revealed  will  to  fallen  man, 
of  priceless  value.  But,  Sheva,  those  things  that  you  call 
Christian  idols,  are  Popish,  which  some  Catholics  almost 
worship;  and,  my  dear,  remember  also,  that  Catholics 
are  not  true  Christians— they  are  little  better  than  idola- 
ters." 

The  Parsee  girl  was  sorely  puzzled ;  she  had  heard  Mr. 
Graham  say,  time  after  time,  that  Catholics  were  idola- 
ters, that  the  Protestant  State  Church  was  a  fraud,  and 
that  Baptists,  and  Methodists,  and  others  were  semi- 
Popish  and  unscriptural ;  and  hearing  these  sayings  often 
repeated,  she,  as  yet,  did  not  understand  what  true  Chris- 
tianity really  was.  Poor  Sheva,  wishing,  however,  to 
make  some  amends  for  her  mistake,  rubbed  the  cover  of 
the  lar^e  book  with  a  cloth,  she  then  carefully  opened  it, 
and  on  the  leaf  opposite  to  the  title-page  there  was  dis- 
played a  fine  engraving  of  the  crucifixion  in  the  same 
Protestant  Bible.  Sheva  had  not  seen  it  before,  and  Mrs. 
Graham,  who  stood  at  her  bide,  seemed  a  little  confused 
at  the  discovery.  It  then  flashed  upon  the  mind  of  the 
girl  that  this  great  book  must  be  some  kind  of  a  Protest- 
ant idol,  and  though  she  made  no  rema  k,  she  wondered 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


245 


why  the  picture  of  an  object  of  Catholic  worship  should 
be  permitted  to  adorn  its  pages. 

The  clouds  had  at  last  disappeared,  and  the  evening 
sun  shone  into  the  little  room,  there  was  a  lulling  sound 
from  the  busy  town,  and  Mrs.  Graham,  in  this  quiet  time, 
sat  dozing  in  an  arm  chair.  Sheva,  from  the  ivied  win- 
dow, looked  beyond  the  brigntened  summit  of  Cave  Hill, 
and  out  upon  the  golden  sea,  and  beyond  the  ocean  leagues 
that  separated  her  from  India,  and  from  those  she  loved. 
Child  as  she  was  in  a  strange  land,  the  most  touching 
memories  led  her  again  to  her  distant  home,  she  saw  her 
forlorn  parents,  and  in  the  very  fulness  of  her  heart  she 
wept  aloud. 

Mrs.  Graham  started  up.  "  Why,  you're  weeping  again, 
poor  child,"  said  the  affectionate  woman,  with  eyt>s  al- 
ready suffused.    *'  May  God  comfort  you ! " 

"0,  ma,"  said  Sheva,  throwing  herself  into  her  arms, 
"  take  me  home,  won't  you  take  me  home  ?  Shall  I  never 
see  them  again  ?  My  poor  mother  is  weeping ;  my  father 
is  sorrowful ;  oh  take  me  home,  take  me  home,  good  ma, 
or  I  shall  soon  die  here!  '* 

"Stay,  child,"  said  Mrs.  Graham,  hurriedly,  " here  is  a 
carriage  driving  up  to  the  house."  Mr.  Graham  also  saw 
it  from  the  lower  room.  Sheva,  on  looking  out  again,  saw 
a  gentleman  step  down  from  the  vehicle  and  approach  the 
door;  she  had  a  glance  at  the  person,  and  thru&t  her 
head  out  still  farther.  In  a,  moment  or  two  afterward, 
slie  sprung  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  her  large  eyes 
had  a  strange  light,  she  gave  a  kind  of  scream,  as  she 
rushed  down  stairs,  and,  just  as  the  stranger  entered,  she 
knelt  before  him,  and  clutched  his  knees,  and,  without 
uttering  a  word,  she  looked  up  with  pleading,  streaming 
eyes  into  the  benevolent  face  of  John  Valiant. 


fMii 


u 


^:   ;. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 


AN  EBBING  SHEPHEBD. 


nil 


rpHE  Summer  moonbeams  appeared  to  slumber  upon 
-*-  Pendell  Bay,  and  the  stars  seemed  to  be  listlessly 
gazing  down  upon  the  bosom  of  the  tranquil  deep,  in 
which  they  were  now  but  faintly  reflected.  The  light- 
house was  like  a  misty  spectre  upon  the  shining  waters, 
and  might  remain  unperceived  were  it  not  for  its  c  .;ea- 
sional  flash,  which  was,  however,  almost  eclipsed  by  a 
moonlight  nearly  as  bright  as  day.  The  distant  mountain 
looked  like  a  pearly  cloud ;  and  the  island  and  the  ships, 
now  dimly  seen  far  out,  appeared  to  be  like  luminous 
spirit  forms  at  rest  in  some  haven  of  glory.  Even  the 
V('ry  air  was  in  repose ;  and  the  ripples  that  played  along 
th  J  gravelly  shore  were  now  scarcely  audible. 

The  scene  was  calmly  beautiful,  one  in  which  the  lover 
of  nature  might  truly  delight ;  one  upon  which  those  who 
had  been  for  years  tossed  about  by  the  storms  of  life, 
might  look  with  longing  eyes,  as  if  obtaining  at  last  a 
glimpse  of  the  promised,  peaceful  hereafter.  It  was  a  soft 
picture  of  earthly  quietude  which  might  easily  lead  the 
fanciful  invalid  to  dream  of  heaven,  or  the  pious  hopeful 
sufferer,  to  speculate  upon  the  sublime  and  glorious  scen- 
ery of  the  land  of  the  blest.  And,  at  that  mystic  time, 
one  indeed  might  have  readily  imagined  that  Night  had 
stepped  down  from  her  "ebon  throne,"  eager  to  be  trans- 
formed into  Day,  and  that  she  had  already  donned  the 
f  lagrant  spangled  robe  of  Dawn, 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


247 


It  is  said  that  natural  scenery,  either  calm,  beautiful, 
or  grand,  would  be  entirely  without  value,  were  there  no 
appreciative  observer.  The  moon-lit  lake,  the  shaded 
vale,  the  towering  mountain,  and  the  ocean  tempest,  inca- 
pable of  thought  in  themselves,  still  generate  the  most 
sublime  ideas  in  the  mind  of  a  spectator ;  and  unless  there 
were  some  mirror  of  intelligence  in  which  these  could  be 
reflected,  the  world  might  as  well  be  one  vast  waste,  or 
the  earth  might  still  remain  in  its  alleged  original  state, 
"  without  form  and  void. " 

But  there  was  one  observer  this  night  that  had  looked, 
time  after  time,  upon  Pendell  Bay  in  calm  and  in  storm- 
one  who  could  enjoy  the  quiet  moonlight  scenery,  and  the 
placid  surface  of  the  deep,  or  hear  with  ecstacy  the  roar 
of  the  storm,  or  look  with  fearless  eye  upon  the  madden- 
ed waves,  as  they  thundered  wildly  against  the  rocky 
coast.  Esther  Meade,  seated  upon  an  elevated  spot,  had 
a  fine  view  of  the  spacious  bay,  but  even  at  that  witching 
hour,  she  seemed  to  pay  but  little  heed  to  the  attractive 
picture ;  her  mind  was  so  pre-occupied,  that  she  gazed  as 
if  entirely  indifferent  to  all  but  one  diminutive  point  upon 
the  horizon.  This  night  she  had  visited  the  ancient 
church  with  her  faithful  attendant,  old  Stephen,  and  had 
spent  over  an  hour  at  her  favorite  relaxation  on  the  organ, 
and  after  she  had  separated  from  him,  she  wandered 
alone,  as  usual,  to  her  chosen  retreat  by  the  sea. 

It  was  a  time  for  quiet  thought  or  for  deeper  meditation 
and  Miss  Meade  now  seemed  to  ponder  upon  some  subject 
thoroughly  engrossing.  Occasionally  as  she  gazed  out, 
her  look  would  seem  troubled  and  a  stern  expression 
would  mark  her  features.  One  might  think  that  her  quiet 
and  retired  manner  of  life  should  leave  her  tolerably  free 
from  care,  but  under  a  calm  exterior  she  had  an  active 
mind.  She  often  thought  of  her  father's  circumstances, 
of  her  brother  in  a  foreign  land,  and  very  often  of  her 
own  future.  She  well  knew  that  the  humble  stipend  which 
her  father  received  for  his  services,  with  the  small  amount 
which  she  was  enabled  to  earn,  was  scarcely  more  than 


if 


I 

I,  |! 


I 


I  ''i^*:: 


248 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 

,   1 

1 

11 

1     .p  ■■ 

i    M 

;  11 

1 

h        1 


m- 


jflisli 


sufflcient  to  keep  up  that  appearance  of  respectability 
which  their  position  required;  she  knew  that  in  a  few 
years  her  father  would  fail  through  age,  and  be  rendered 
unable  to  perform  the  required  duties  of  parish  curate ; 
and  then  she  thought  of  the  sad  possibility  of  his  death, 
or  of  his  dismissal  by  the  mere  whim  of  an  exacting 
rector— the  Rector  1  She  now  thought  of  the  man  with 
increasing  distrust,  with  positive  dislike,  which,  on  her 
father's  account,  she  was  forced  to  hide.  She  had  suffi- 
cient reason  to  distrust  his  seeming  regard  for  her  father, 
and  sufficient  evidence  to  suspect  the  attentions  which  he 
was  forward  enough  to  pay  to  herself.  There  was  a  time 
when  this  very  rector  cared  not  to  pay  a  pastoral  visit  to 
Pendell  for  months  together ;  but  now,  though  a  pluralist, 
he  had  neglected  his  other  parishes  and  devoted  nearly  all 
his  spare  time  to  this  retired  place.  He  had  lately  visited 
this  favored  spot  about  once  in  two  weeks,  to  the  surprise 
of  many ;  and  when  he  did  come,  he  usually  sought  the 
society  of  Miss  Meade,  paid  her  many  compliments,  and 
even  made  use  of  certain  tender  expressions,  which  were 
too  significant  to  be  misunderstood,  and  which,  more  than 
once,  caused  the  flush  of  anger  to  become  plainly  visible 
upon  her  face.  But  what  could  she  do  under  the  circum- 
stances ?  For  her  father's  sake,  she  was  obliged  to  dis- 
semble—an act  most  repugnant  to  her  nature.  Were  she 
to  insult  this  reverend  divine,  this  man  in  ecclesiastical 
authority,  from  whom  her  aged  parent  gained  his  living, 
her  father  might  be  cast  upon  an  uncharitable  world  in 
his  old  age,  and  they  might  be  obliged  to  leave  their 
pleasant,  peaceful  home  together.  She  had  to  dissemble ! 
O!  what  would  she  not  have  given  to  be  able  to  exhibit 
that  contempt  for  this  rector  which  he  deserved !  It  was 
a  desperate  struggle  for  her  to  appear  unmoved  in  his 
presence.  There  were  moments  when  she  was  afraid  of 
betraying  herself  and  upbraiding  him  before  her  father ; 
there  were  times  when  she  could  scarcely  keep  from  re- 
proaching him  even  in  church  before  the  whole  congrega- 
tion.   In  violence  to  her  feelings,  but  in  compliance  with 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


249 


the  urgent  request  of  her  father,  she  had  once  accepted 
an  invitation  from  the  rector's  wife,  and  had  spent  over  a 
week  in  London,  in  the  rector's  grand  house ;  had  sub- 
mitted to  the  patronizing  airs  of  this  condescending 
woman,  had  listened  to  the  pretty  inanities  of  the  rector 
himself,  and  had  at  last  been  obliged  to  accept  the  hand- 
some workbox  which  he  had  purchased  f  3r  her.  Even  at 
that  time  she  had  her  suspicions  of  him ;  his  easy  plausi- 
bility might  have  deceived  some,  but  she  understood  him 
at  once ;  and  though  he  had  often  spoken  of  her  father  as 
one  for  whom  he  entertained  the  greatest  regard,  and  had 
expressed  his  intention  of  making  the  curacy  of  Pendell 
more  serviceable  to  its  estimable  curate  than  it  ever  had 
been,  yet  as  time  passed,  she  became  more  confirmed  in 
the  belief  that  the  Rev.  George  Morton  was  a  heartless, 
treacherous  man ;  and  though  the  calm  moonbeams  were 
still  before  her,  she  saw  in  the  future  the  portentous  storm 
cloud  that  was  likely  to  burst  over  the  unprotected  head 
of  her  father. 

As  the  rector's  visits  seemed  now  to  be  regularly  ex- 
pected. Miss  Meade  often  sought  excuses  to  go  from  home 
during  his  stay.  Though  she  wished  to  avoid  him,  she 
found  the  task  very  difficult,  for  were  she  anywhere  in  the 
neighborhood,  he  would  be  sure  to  make  some  excuse  in 
order  to  find  her  out,  and  when  he  failed  to  succeed,  which 
was,  indeed,  seldom,  he  became  irritated  and  prolonged  his 
stay,  determined  to  meet  her,  pud  sometimes  to  venture  a 
mild  reproach  for  her  indifference.  Some  began  to  think 
ttiat  he  had  grown  tired  of  the  wild  bustle  of  London,  and 
that  he  might  possibly  make  his  home  at  Pendell.  He 
had  now  his  own  rooms  at  the  hotel ;  he  did  not  choose  to 
lodge  at  a  private  house,  but  was  ready  to  accept  an  invi- 
tation to  dine  with  Mr.  Meade— the  providing  of  a  suitable 
dinner  for  the  rector  was  a  severe  tax  upon  the  curate's 
resources— or  with  such  of  his  parishioners  as  would  afford 
him  an  opportunity  of  meeting  the  curate  and  his  daugh- 
ter. He  sometimes  rode  to  Botnall  to  dine  with  Mr.  Bock- 
ett,  his  brother  rector,  but  this  was  mostly  when  he  was  on 


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THE  HEATHKNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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his  way  back  to  London ;  his  Sabbaths  were  generally 
spent  in  the  city. 

He  had,  however,  lately  been  absent  from  Pendell 
longer  than  usual,  and  Miss  Meade  had  begun  to  enter- 
tain some  hopes  that  they  would  not  be  troubled  with  him 
so  often.  During  the  rector's  last  visit,  she  had  managed 
to  keep  entirely  out  of  his  way,  and  he  had,  she  hoped, 
probably  begim  to  think  that  his  visits  at  his  Pendell 
parish  were  suspected  by  her  father,  as  well  as  by  herself ; 
though  if  her  father  ever  had  a  thought  on  the  subject,  he 
kept  it  to  himself,  as  he  did  many  other  troublesome  mat- 
ters. Any  way,  these  hopes  were  quickly  disappointed, 
for  Mr.  Morton  had  unexpectedly  arrived  that  evening; 
and  striving  to  avoid  him  if  possible,  she  had  stolen  away 
from  the  parsonage  at  an  early  hour,  and  went  to  spend  a 
while  with  old  Sarah  Afton ;  then,  when  it  was  growing 
late,  she  left  Sarah's  cottage,  and  went  to  the  church  with 
old  Stephen,  and  having  indulged  for  some  time  upcn  her 
favorite  instrument,  was  now  alone  gazing  vacantly  upon 
the  moon -lit  scene  before  her. 

But  not  altogether  did  this  disagreeable  subject  con- 
cerning the  rector,  occupy  the  mind  of  Esther  Meade, 
other  matters  of  a  more  pleasing  nature  engaged  her. 
She  had  heard  much  of  the  wonderful  improvements 
lately  made  upon  the  Heath  property ;  she  was  surprised 
at  the  almost  miraculous  change  in  the  manners  and 
habits  of  the  once  wild  set  who  had  infested  the  place, 
and  equally  surprised  to  learn  of  their  present  orderly 
and  contented  disposition ;  she  had  heard  of  the  intended 
restoration  of  the  Manor  House,  and  of  nearly  all  that  its 
humane  proprietor  had  done  and  proposed  to  do,  and  she 
had  heard  her  father,  and  old  Stephen,  and  Sarah,  and  in 
fact  every  one  that  knew  him,  not  only  mention  the  name 
of  John  Valiant  with  the  greatest  respect,  but  speak  of 
him  as  being  one  of  the  noblest  individuals  living.  Under 
the  impression  that  there  might  possibly  be  some  exag- 
geration in  their  favorable  accounts,  she  had  determined 
to  satisfy  herself,  and  had  asked  old  Stephen  to  drive  her 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


251 


down  to  the  Heath  to  see  what  had  really  been  done,  and 
she  had  returned  pleased  and  delighted  at  the  change. 

Strange  to  say  that  though  Mr.  Valiant  had  been  at 
Pendell  and  in  its  neighborhood  several  times,  she  had 
never  yet  seen  him.  He  had  once  called  at  the  parsonage 
but  she  was  then  absent  on  a  visit  at  the  rector's  in  Lon- 
don. She  had  often  turned  her  eyes  when  at  church 
expecting  to  see  him  enter,  but  he  never  came ;  and  as  yet 
neither  at  church  nor  any  where  else  had  she  met  him,  and 
having  heard  so  much  in  his  favor  from  rich  and  from 
poor,  especially  from  those  who  were  considered  the  most 
destitute,  she  was  really  desirous  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  a  person  so  estimable ;  with  one  who  though  wealthy 
was  neither  purse-proud,  nor  ostentatious,  nor  indifferent 
to  the  necessities  of  others. 

Miss  Meade  having  a  great  regard  for  unselfish  people, 
could  not  avoid  drawing  a  comparison  between  the  Rev. 
George  Morton,  the  rich  rector  of  Pendell,  with  his  three 
livings,  which  paid  him  nearly  four  thousand  pounds  a 
year,  clear  of  all  salaries  to  his  curates,  and  this  stranger 
whose  wealth  had  already  been  a  fountain  of  benevolence 
to  those  in  need.  She  well  knew  that  the  name  of  the 
rector  of  Pendell,  as  well  as  that  of  Mr.  Rockett,  the  rector 
of  Betnall,  had  been  despised  by  almost  all  upon  the 
Heath.  These  clergymen,  with  little  sympathy  for  distress 
and  less  charity  for  the  destitute,  were  even  now  anything 
but  favorites,  the  rector  of  Betnall  still  being  especially 
detested ;  indeed  at  one  period  his  life  would  be  counted 
as  of  little  value  were  he  discovered  alone  in  that  region. 
As  ministers  of  the  Established  Cliurch— the  true  church 
to  her— they  had  only  brought  religion  into  contempt. 
And  then  she  began  to  wonder  why  it  was  that  that  Church 
with  its  immense  wealth,  with  its  vast  endowments,  with 
its  titled  bishops,  its  numerous  clergy,  and  its  influential 
adherents,  could  have  allowed  such  a  place  of  infamy  as 
the  Heath  once  was,  to  exist  in  England.  From  her  child- 
hood she  had  heard  of  the  depredations  of  the  reckless 
people  of  the  Heath,  she  hud  heard  of  their  poverty  and 


m 


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252 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  their  crime,  and  of  the  efforts  which  a  few  benevolent 
people  had  occasionally  made  to  benefit  them ;  but  these 
efforts  had  for  some  reason  been  of  little  or  no  service. 
She  had  read  books  and  reports  on  the  state  of  the  heathen 
world,  and  had  read  heart  rending  accounts  of  the  labors 
and  sufferings  of  missionaries  in  distant  lands,  and  of  the 
triumphant  successes  with  which  they  had  been  ultimate- 
ly crowned ;  and,  years  ago,  she  had  many  a  time  wonder- 
ed why  men,  said  to  be  so  truly  devoted  had  not  gone 
among  the  half-starved  heathen  of  the  Heath  for  the  pur- 
pose of  winning  souls,  instead  of  going  thousands  of  miles 
away  to  try  and  gain  converts  among  the  well-fed  heathens 
of  Hindoostan.  She  had  reasonably  thought,  that  if 
obdurate  pagans  in  India  could  be  humanized  and  Chris- 
tianized, that  a  few  score  of  British  heathen,  only  half  a 
day's  journey  from  St.  Paul's  Church  in  London,  might 
also  be  reclaimed.  She  knew  that  there  were  various  mis- 
sionary societies  throughout  England ;  she  knew  that  her 
own  church  had  annually  collected  vast  sums  in  order 
that  the  gospel  might  be  sent  to  pagans  afar  off,  even 
while  the  unfortunates  on  the  Heath,  as  well  as  a  similar 
class  in  other  parts  of  England,  were  almost  totally 
neglected  and  forgotten.  For  years  she  had  heard, 
through  pulpit  and  through  press,  of  the  great  endeavors 
of  the  Christian  Church  to  make  known  the  plan  of  salva- 
tion to  unbelievers,  and  through  those  long  years  she  and 
her  poor  father  had  known  of  those  suffering  people  on 
the  Heath,  and  had  many  a  time  made  appeals  for  them 
to  wealthy  Christians,  but  she  had  learned  from  long 
experience  that  so  long  as  India,  and  China,  and  Japan, 
and  the  South  Sea  Islands,  stood  in  the  way,  and  loomed 
up  before  imaginative  missionaries,  little  need  be  expected 
for  those  socially  and  morally  degraded  at  home.  But 
wiiat  a  change  during  the  last  few  months !  Here  was  a 
people  long  trodden  under  foot,  long  despised,  long  said 
to  be  too  vicious  ever  to  be  reclaimed  by  ordinary  methods 
now  so  changed  and  improved  as  scarcely  to  be  recognized , 
and  this,  too,  all  the  work  of  one  benevolent  man,  without 


THB  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


253 


the  aid  or  endorsement  of  any  great  missionary  society, 
witiiout  the  assistance  of  one  "  duly  authorlzec',  '  save  by 
those  whom  he  himself  had  raised  as  it  were  from  the 
coarse  clay,  into  whom  he  had  breathed  human  ideas,  and 
to  whom  in  due  time  he  had  given  his  own  special  ordina- 
tion. 

But  what  had  the  clergy  of  her  church,  as  a  body,  ever 
done  for  the  perishing  British  heathen  ?  She  might  have 
answered:  Absolutely  nothing!  She  had  been  informed 
of  the  visit  of  the  Bishop  of  Storkchestcr  to  the  Heath— of 
this  his  first  missionary  attempt — of  his  altercation  with 
the  old  gypsy  woman,  and  of  this  worse  than  useless  cleri- 
cal excursion  of  his  Ki^ht  Reverence,  his  Lordship,  his 
chaplains,  and  the  other  clergy.  She  had  heard  of  Zin- 
gari's  strange  predictions,  but  had  treated  them  as  the 
absurd  threats  or  warnings  of  the  professed  fortune  teller 
of  wandering  tribes ;  that  which  her  father  had,  however, 
related  as  to  what  he  had  seen  in  the  little  mirror— the 
likeness  of  her  brother— held  before  him  by  the  old  gypsy 
woman,  caused  her  no  little  surprise.  She  was  by  no 
means  what  is  commonly  understood  as  superstitious ;  no 
believer  in  spiritual  quackery,  but  she  well  knew  that  her 
father  was  neither  credulous  nor  easily  deceived,  and  that 
he  would  for  no  consideration  make  such  a  statement  to 
her,  or  to  any  one  else,  if  he  did  not  believe  in  what  he 
had  seen ;  as  it  was  he  seemed  reluctant  to  mention  the 
circumstance,  but  as  the  rumor  of  the  visit  of  the  clergy 
and  of  what  had  taken  place,  had  reached  her  through 
other  sources,  she  had  prevailed  upon  her  father  to  give 
her  a  more  particular  account  of  what  had  occurred. 

While  dwelling  upon  this  singular  circumstance,  and 
wondering  by  what  means,  natural  or  unnatural,  the  fea- 
tures of  her  brother,  as  well  as  those  of  other  persons  had 
been  produced  in  Zingari's  mirror,  she  was  startled  by  the 
appearance  of  the  long  shadow  of  a  human  form  which 
gradually  approached  from  behind.  She  turned  quickly 
around,  and  there  stood  the  dark  figure  of  a  man,  as  if 
hesitating  to  take  another  step  towards  her ;  his  features 


I. 


■1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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■smti 


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were  visible,  and  tliougii  there  was  a  smile  to  be  seen  on 
them,  it  was  ghastly  in  the  moonlight.  She  know  the  i  er 
son  and  her  first  impulse  was  to  rush  past  him  a6d  speed 
home,  but  her  pride  and  self-confidence  held  her  to  the 
spot,  and  without  an  exclaimation,  or  a  single  word,  she 
stood  up  and  looked  sternly  at  the  intruder ;  she  had  little 
fear  at  the  moment. 

"Ah!  fair  truant,  you  have  not  escaped  me  this  time! 
I  would  have  traced  you  ten  times  as  far ;  and  here  you  are 
alone  by  the  sea,  or  rather  we  are  here  alone,  just  as  I  would 
have  it.  Oh  fair  queen !  verily  you  look  like  one  at  pres- 
ent. I  can  scarcely  find  words  to  utter  a  reproach,  but, 
pretty  wanderer,  I  ought  to  find  fault  with  you ;  how  sel- 
dom I  have  found  an  opportunity  of  expressing  my  admir- 
ation for  the  loveliest  of  her  sex ;  one  to  me  more  beauti- 
ful than  that  picture  of  serenity  around  us  would  be  to  the 
eye  of  a  poet." 

The  Bev.  George  Morton  then  raised  his  hat,  made  a 
profound  bow,  and  stepped  closer  to  Esther  Meade,  whom 
he  had  thus  addressed. 

"You  are  the  rector  of  Pendell,"  said  she,  standing 
before  him,  "I  am  the  curate's  daughter.  We  are  here 
alone,  and  you  would  take  l  s'antage  of  that  circumstance 
to  address  me  in  manner  as  you  have.  I  shall  take  advan- 
tage of  this  same  to  speak  freely  for  once  and  tell  you, 
that  though  you  do  not  deceive  me,  you  impose  upon  your- 
self when  you  fancy  that  I  can  regard  your  words  as  other 
than  offensive." 

••Offensive?  Great  Heavens!  Offend  you?  No,  not 
for  a  thousand  worlds,"  replied  the  persistent  rector. 
•'Only  tell  me,  fair  tormentor,  how,  or  where,  I  can  un- 
burden my  heart— a  heart  that  has  long  been  yours— so 
that  my  ardent  words,  without  provoking  your  gentlest 
anger  may  make  even  a  faint  impression  on  her  who  hears 


me, 


>> 


Miss  Meade,  curbing   her   resentful  feelings,  looked 
steadily  at  him  a  moment,  and  then  replied : 

*•  How  or  where  unburden  your  heart,  did  you  say  ?    By 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

leaving  my  presence,  and  by  letting  your  w'fe  hear  that 
which  you  would  have  reach  my  ears ;  she  has  a  right  to 
listen ;  she  has  the  best  right  to  know  to  whom  your  heart 
belongs,  and  I  would  fain  learn  from  her  the  impression 
which  your  words  had  produced." 

"  Bah !  "  exclaimed  the  rector  smartly,  "  That's  beside 
the  matter;  I  keep  such  secrets  from  her,  and  from  all 
others,"  and  then  he  continued  in  a  softer  tone,  **I  can- 
not leave  your  presence.  O,  sweet  Esther!  were  my  wife 
to  know  my  feelings  fo:  you  she  would  hate  you  for- 
ever." 

•'  Not  if  she  knew  my  opinion  of  you,"  said  Miss  Meade 
calmly.  "Not  if  she  knew  that  I  might  entertain  some 
respect  for  you  were  I  certain  of  your  hatred  instead  of  a 
different  feeling." 

'•Cruel,  cruel!  Cruel  of  you!"  continued  the  rector. 
"  Hate  you?  Impossible!  I  could  hate  her,  I  could  hate 
all  else  for  your  sake,  Esther.  For  you  I  could  make  any 
sacrifice— home,  wife,  children,  friends,  reputation,  every- 
thing." 

"  I  require  no  sacrifices,"  said  she.  *'  Yes,  I  ask  a  favor 
—a  sacrifice  if  you  will— leave  me,  and  never  dare  to 
address  me  again  as  you  have  done.  You  have  presumed 
too  far ;  I  have  suffered  long  without  complaint  because  I 
did  not  wish  to  give  another  care  to  my  father,  but  now  I 
tell  you  that  from  this  time,  no  matter  what  the  result 
may  be,  the  annoyance  must  cease."  Miss  Meade  spoke 
with  great  determination,  her  eyes  told  her  meaning  as 
slie  stood  before  him,  and  the  Rev.  rector  though  he 
winced  a  little  was  by  no  means  subdued. 

"Sweet  creature,  dream  not  of  annoyance  from  me," 
said  the  rector,  *'  I  could  make  any  sacrifice  for  your  sake 
—but  leave  you  I  can't.  I  feel,  even  after  all  you  have 
said,  that  you  will  yet  relent  and  bear  with  my  importun- 
ity. Though  I  regard  your  father  for  his  worth,  and  ven- 
erate him  still  more  for  your  sake,  yet  you  may  believe 
that  it  is  solely  on  your  account  that  I  retain  him  as  cur- 
ate of  Pendell,  for  you  must  be  aware  that  he  is  at  present, 


ijg»"-»^>»k!  (1 


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THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


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and  has  been  for  some  time,  unable  to  perform  all  his 
required  duties." 

The  color  ibat  now  mounted  to  the  cheek  of  Miss  Meade 
could  not  be  seen  in  the  pale  light.  Her  indignation  v.  as 
aroused  by  the  man's  persistency,  and  at  the  implied 
threat  of  her  father's  dismissal.  The  rector  lelt  really 
surprised  at  her  manner;  he  felt  that  he  had  been  too 
urgent,  or  perhaps  too  precipitate.  He  stepped  back  a 
pace  or  two,  but  it  was  to  admire  her  more  fully,  for  Esther, 
with  her  clenched  hands,  and  compressed  lips,  and  fierce 
expression,  had  at  the  time  the  aspect  of  a  stern  but  beau- 
tiful goddess. 

For  a  moment  or  two  not  a  word  was  spoken;  she 
struggling  to  restrain  her  emotion,  he  as  if  enraptured 
with  her  appearance.  Presently,  as  if  anxious  to  conciliate, 
he  made  an  humble  obeisance  and  advanced  towards  her. 

** Pardon!  I  most  humbly  ask  pardon.  If  anything  I 
have  said  has  led  you  for  a  moment  to  suppose  that  I  have 
not  the  proper  regard  for  your  feelings,  pray  let  me  explai  n 
my  words ;  if  they  have  offended,  let  me,  sweet  angel,  give 
evidence  of  my  contrition." 

'*  You  ask  for  pardon !  You  care  as  little  for  my  pardon 
as  you  do  for  my  feelings.  Why  dare  intrude  or  follow 
me  here?  asked  she,  still  boldly  looking  him  in  the  face. 
Your  words  are  insulting,  and  your  txireat  contemptible  as 
you  are  yourself.  Ycu,  a  clergyman !  What  ii  mockery ! 
You,  my  father's  employer!  What  a  degrading  service! 
Better  that  we  should  starve !  Would  that  there  were  a 
thousand  now  present  to  hear  me  tell  you  that  your  con- 
duct is  a  disgrace  to  your  profession !  " 

These  cutting  words  were  keenly  felt  by  the  rector— 
doubly  cutting  because  they  came  from  her,  yet  he  en- 
deavored to  appear  unmoved  as  if  he  had  not  understood 
her  meaning.  He  now  began  to  feel  that  the  scornful 
beauty  whom  he  would  win,  was  not  one  to  be  easily  im- 
posed upon ;  and  that  she  must  be  approached  in  a  differ- 
ent way,  and  he  at  onc^  affected  a  desire  to  gain  her  good 
opinion,  even  were  be  obliged  to  leave  her  forever. 


Levy 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


257 


"Ah!"  said  he,  with  downcast  look,  "perhaps  I  de- 
serve your  reproaches,  but  not  to  the  extent  you  have 
gone.    You  misjudge  me.    For  years  I  have  kept  aloof; 
for  years  I  have  taken  the  most  delicate  methods  of  hint- 
ing or  of  showing  my  regard  for  yon— an  unfortunate 
attachment,  alas,  for  me ;  for  years  I  have  waited  for  an 
opportunity  of  explaining  my  position  and  making  an 
appeal.    In  a  word,  without  you,  my  life  must  be  un- 
happy.   Is  there  no  hope  ?  "    Then  he  knelt  and  seized 
her  hand,  and  endeavored  to  cover  it  with  kisses.    "O 
Esther,"  as  we  are  now  here  alone,  1  ask,  is  there  to  be  no 
hope  ?    I  am  peculiarly  situated,  if  I  can  have  no  claim 
on  your  consideration,  tell  me  what  is  to  be  my  doom.    I 
shall  hold  your  dear  hand  until  you  speak  some  word  of 
encouragement,  even  for  the  distant  futuie." 

While  Miss  Meade  was  struggling  to  disengage  her 
hand,  a  strange  voice  from  a  little  distance  was  iieurd  to 
say :  *'  Not  quite  alone,  your  Keverence,  not  quite  alone  as 
you  imagine ;  what  a  pity  that  your  mission  here  has  been 
8)ich  a  failure!  Fair  lady,  if  you  cannot  give  a  more 
favorable  reply  to  his  gallant  speeches,  or  if  you  cannot 
trust  your  tongue  to  bid  him  hope,  or  to  tell  his  doom, 
shall  I  again  i)ronounce  it  for  him  ?  " 

The  rector  was  thoroughly  startled;  Esther  looked 
quickly  around  her.  In  front  of  a  large  furze  bush,  that 
was  sufficient  to  hid*;  a  person  from  view,  stood  the  ghost- 
like form  of  Zingari,  looking  toward  the  sea.  Her  right 
arm  was  partly  outstret/;hed ;  her  withered  face  wore  a 
solemn  expression,  and  the  m«^x>nlight,  that  was  mingled 
with  her  snow-white  hair,  seem*'/!  like  a  halo  around  the 
head  of  a  prophetess.  Though  many  might  have  been 
alarmed  at  the  time— for  the  hour  was  late,  and  the  place 
lonely— yet  Miss  Meade  felt  a  measure  of  relief  in  the 
presence  of  a  third  person,  and  she  advanced  with  confi- 
dence toward  the  old  gypsy  woman.  JEJhe  then  turned  to 
address  and  rebuke  the  rector,  she  hoped  for  the  last  time, 
but  when  she  looked  at  the  spot  wh<re  she  ha^l  left  him 
kneeling,  she  found  that  he  had  sud<lenly  disappeared. 


\ 


i     I 


Chapter  xxiv. 

ZINGABI. 

T  EFT  alone,  as  they  now  were,  at  an  hour  not  far  from 
-*^  midnight,  Zingari  stood  motionless  for  some  time; 
she  seemed  as  if  intent  on  watching  the  retiring  form  of 
the  rector,  and  to  strain  her  eyes,  as  if  to  still  keep  him 
in  view.  Her  companion,  who  had  better  vision,  and  who 
was  no  doubt  anxious  to  be  assured  of  the  departure  of 
Mr.  Morton,  could  see  nothing  of  him,  and  it  might  have 
been  only  imagination  on  the  part  of  the  old  gypsy  woman 
to  think  that  he  was  thien  visible.  Miss  Meade  was  under 
the  impression  that  the  rectur  must  have  suddenly  sprung 
down  from  the  high  bank,  in  order  to  run  along  the  cir- 
cuitous shore,  thereby  to  reach  the  village  and  escape 
further  observation.  Once  or  twice  the  old  woman  placed 
her  hand  behind  her  ear,  as  if  endeavoring  to  catch  the 
sound  of  his  retiring  footsteps,  and  as  soon  as  she  seemed 
satisfied  that  he  had  gone  away,  she  gave  a  heavy  sigh, 
and  without  speaking  a  word,  took  Esther  by  the  hand, 
and  led  her  slowly  forward  to  the  grassy  elevation  which 
commanded  the  most  extensive  view  of  the  Bay  that  could 
be  found  in  this  retired  place.  A  few  dark  clumps  of 
gorse  were  scattered  here  and  there,  and  having  seated 
herself  upon  a  projecting  rock,  she  motioned  Miss  Meade 
to  take  a  place  beside  her .  and  then,  as  if  musing'  upon 
the  beautiful  scene  before  them,  or  dwelling  upon  some 
sad  recollection  of  other  yea»s,  she  comtinued  scma  silent 
until  her  wierd  and  now  dejected  ai^peaiun-tr  htxt  at  last 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


259 


inclined  her  companion  to  speak :  "  Poor  woman,  you  look 

as  if  you  were  troubled." 

There  was  another  pause,  and  then  Zingari  slowly 
replied  with  a  siirh :  "  Alas !  what  has  my  poor  life  been — 
my  almost  dreary  existence — but  one  continued  scene  of 
care,  one  wild,  sad  sea  of  trouble.  There  was  for  me  a  short 
period  of  happiness — ah,  how  short! — in  my  early  days, 
which  was  as  calm  and  bright  as  that  scene  before  you; 
but  oh  heavens,  how  soon  came  the  deep  and  constant 
gloom.' 

The  poor  woman  seemed  much  depressed,  her  manner 
was  subdued,  and  now  she  drew  her  hand  across  her  eyes, 
which  were  full  of  tears. 

"  It  would  be  a  bleak  month  that  had  not  more  than 
one  day  ol'  sunshine,"  said  Esther,  feelingly,  "  I  trust  that 
your  remaining  years  ma\  bring  y<iu  i)eace.'* 

"Peace,  eternal  peace,  the  oblivion  of  the  tomb — that 
must  come,"'  replied  Zingari,  "but  what  peace  can  I  ex- 
pect again,  for  there  are  some  whom  I  can  never  forgive, 
there  are  some  whose  vileness  has  brought  me  sorrow, 
and  some  whose  wrongs  I  should  avenge.  I  can  only 
expect  peace  in  the  grave." 

"Avenge!  rather  forget.  Ah,  what  of  the  promised 
peaceful  k  reafter,  if  we  caiLiiot  forgive?"  asked  Miss 
Meade. 

"The  hereafter?"  said  Ziogari,  "tiiat  may  be  but  a 
dream— I  often  think  so — better  obi  i  vion .  better  nii'vanna  * 
than  even  a  broken  sleep  ol  life  with  a  dream  of  misery." 

"  There  is  a  future — it  is  not  a  mere  dream— a  blest  state 
of  happine^  for  those  wh«>  can  iorgive,"  said  Miss  Meade. 
"It  is  the  duty  of  all  to  be  like  <»  (javaily  Father,  to 

follow  His  example  andforgive— toioji^ve  even  those  who 
have  done  us  the  most  injury." 

"Ah!  ciiild,"  replied  Ziujzari,  **  what  a  dreamer  you 
now  are!  Were  you,  like  others,  impelled  to  follow  the 
example  of  your  so-called  Heavenly  Father,  you  would 

*  Buddk^stic  anai4uiation. 


s 


(Ittljiti 


■\ 


11 


I  iililffl 


260 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


often  be  untrue  to  your  own  nature,  would  be  inconsistent 
—at  times  greatly  humane— but  most  often  violently  atro- 
cious. Does  not  your  own  sacred  book  plainly  record 
numerous  instances  of  how  the  Great  Being,  of  whom  you 
speak,  burned  with  revenge,  and  not  only  slaughtered  the 
guilty,  but  the  innocent;  not  only  visited  male  ofifenders 
with  fire  and  sword,  disease  and  horrid  tortures,  but  har- 
assed unoffending  women  and  harmless  children  with 
fierce  wrath  and  dire  persecution.  And  shall  we  mortals 
be  more  humane  than  your  God;  can  we  be  more  forgiv- 
ing than  the  Divinity  ?  " 

After  a  little  hesitation,  Esther  replied :  "  We  cannot  in 
any  manner  presume  to  be  equal  to  the  Deity  in  all  that 
is  benevolent  and  merciful.  Those  whom  God  found  it 
necessary  to  destroy,  were  cut  off,  no  doubt,  as  a  warning 
to  others ;  He  should  have  power  over  the  lives  he  cre- 
ated." 

"And  if  you  follow  up  this  mode  of  argument,"  resum- 
ed Zingari,  **if  you  fan  so  readily  find  an  excuse  for  cru- 
elty, you  will,  like  fanatical  theologians,  only  prove  your 
Deity  like  toa  fieud— an  irat«,  malicious  monster  gloating 
in  vengeance."* 

"Shocking!  "  exclpimed  Miss  Meade. 

"  It  is  (tYGU  so,"  said  Zingari.  "  By  reading  your  Scrip- 
tures, you  can  come  to  no  other  conclusion  than  that  tne 
Jewltth  Deity— now  the  Christian  God— was  like  an  insatia- 
ble fury,  jealous  and  revtugeful,  ever  ready  to  take 
offence ;  not  punishing  his  creatures  as  a  father  would  his 
childnai,  but  upon  the  merest  pretext,  involving  all  in 
one  common  destruction." 

*'  These  instances,"  replied  Miss  Meade,  who  felt  some- 


k 

III 

hi 


'*  liecBter,  the  great  commentator,  makes  the  following  extraordl- 
uary  plea  for  .Teh'  vah,  with  r<!gard  to  thi;  slauphtor  of  male  "littli> 
>nes,"  as  r-^norded  in  Numbers,  Chap.  31,  v.  17.  *'  With  respect  to  tho 
execution  of  male  infants,  who  cannot  be  supposed  to  have  been 
ifuilty,  God,  the  author  and  supporter  of  life,  who  has  a  right  to 
dispose*  of  Kiwhcn  and  liow  He  thinks  proper,  commanded  it:  and 
'shall  uottlie  Judge  of  all  the  earth  do  right?'  Amazing  vindica- 
tion ol  cruelty  1 " 


n 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


261 


what  embarrassed,  "  were  but  rare  exceptions  tor  a  useful 
purpose ;  a  few  were  cut  off,  that  many  might  be  saved. 
Our  God  is  a  forgiving  God." 

"Suojlx  w^ceptions,"  said  Zingarl,  '*  are  too  numerous  to 
serve  humanity,  or  to  excite  a  true  veneration  for  Jeho- 
vah; the  exceptions  might,  indeed,  be  called  His  rule. 
You  would  have  me  think  that  your  God  is  one  that  will 
easily  relent,  and  yet  there  is  a  sin,  a  so-called  blasphe- 
my, that  He  will  never,  never  forgive." 

•'  My  good  friend,"  said  Miss  Meade,  **  it  is  evident  that 
you  are  but  partially  informed;  were  you  to  study  our 
Scriptures  carefully,  you  would  find  that  the  Good  Being 
whom  we  worship,  is  in  Himself  perfection." 

"Child,"  replied  Zingari,  "you  are  like  others  of  your 
creed,  positive  and  assuming.  You  fancy  that  your  book 
only  requires  to  be  read  in  order  to  produce  conviction 
and  belief.  I  read  that  book  before  you  were  born ;  read 
it  to  prove  to  my  own  satisfaction  that  it  is  but  a  corrupt 
version  of  the  Sacred  Vedas ;  partly  but  a  rehash  of  the 
theologies  of  ancient  nations,  many  of  whom  have  already 
passed  away.  Your  so-called  holy  book  describes  the 
Divine  Being  as  like  to  an  ordinary  man,  with  the  passions 
of  a  human  being,  going  about  to  be  seen  and  felt,  and 
subject,  like  a  common  mortal,  to  love,  hatred,  anger, 
wrath  and  fury." 

"Well,  if  you  will  make  it  so,"  said  Miss  Meade  with  a 
little  warmth,  "  it  is  but  another  proof  that  the  natural 
heart  cannot  comprehend  the  things  that  belong  to  God. 
His  ways  are  not  like  ours,  they  are  unsearchable." 

"  Mere  flippant  words,"  said  Zingari,  "  words  which  are 
too  often  but  the  refuge  of  the  credulous  and  fanatical. 
We  cannot  comprehend  the  Omnipotent— the  great  Brahm 
—but  when  your  book  is,  as  you  say,  inspired  to  toll  uk 
what  He  is,  it  but  robs  Him  of  His  glory ;  no  greater  mis- 
representation of  the  Deity  is  possible  than  that  given  of 
Him  in  many  places  in  your  Bible.  It  makes  Him  a  God 
which  cannot  be  seen,  and  which  has  been  seen,  a  God 
of  love  and  a  God  of  hatred,  a  God  of  pity  and  a  God  of 


S"»!ln 


•1' 


i 

5    ,                         !i 

it,                     '1 

4                                  i'    Ml 

SJ                -       t     r 
J,.                 ' 

M 


rttfr 


262 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


vindictiyeness,  a  God  unchangeable  and  a  God  of  insta- 
bility. Your  book  is  full  of  amazing  contradictions  which 
your  priests  vainly  strive  to  reconcile ;  and  together,  your 
arrogant  priests  and  inspired  contradictions  have  as  yet 
only  mystified  dupes  and  curbed  the  true  progress  of 
humanity.    Better  that  the  book  had  never  been  written." 

"And  woman,  what  would  the  world  be  without  it?" 
said  Miss  Meade,  looking  sternly  at  Zingari.  *'  What 
would  this  great  nation  be  without  its  Bible  and  iU 
authorized  expounders  ?  " 

"A  world  of  more  peace  and  less  war,  a  world  of  more 
human  happiness,"  replied  Zingari,  "a  world  of  more  hu- 
mane ideas.  Your  great  book  has  consecrated  imposition, 
and  made  tyrants  of  priestly  pretenders  whom  you  revere 
as  its  authorized  expounders — how  happy  for  mankind 
were  there  no  such  crafty  priests,  no  sucli  greedy,  aspiring, 
paid  agents  of  mystery.  Without  them  your  nation  would 
be  more  truly  great,  it  would  be  less  plundered,  and  less 
impoverished.  Your  Bible  has  displaced  truth  and  subvert- 
ed man's  ideas  of  right  and  wrong;  it  has  taught  men  to 
submit  to  extortion,  and  to  become  reconciled  to  abuses, 
to  political  and  theological  despotism  in  every  shape  and 
degree.  The  Bible  and  the  priests,  the  Bible  and  the 
priests,  have  done  all  this." 

'*  You  are  in  error,"  resumed  Miss  Meade.  **  Those  who 
will  pervert  its  plain  teaching,  those  alone,  only  create  the 
abuses  which  you  seem  to  think  exist.  The  Bible  is  the 
great  supporter  of  truth— it  is  truth  itself.  It  is  the  great 
opponent  of  despotism,  and  denounces  every  kind  of  op- 
pression." 

"Wild  assertion," said  Zingari  calmly,  "wild  assertion, 
child.  If  the  teaching  of  your  inspired  book  is  so  plain, 
its  meaning  has  perplexed  your  most  learned  men  who 
have  harassed  and  bewildered  the  world  with  their  wilt  I 
disputations.  It  has  given  rise  to  Popery  and  its  silly 
rites,  it  has  created  a  hundred  jarring  sects :  and  in  this 
land,  as  in  others,  it  has  established  that  great  nursei-y  of 
pretence  and   extortion— a  State  Church.    The  Bible  is 


i   [ri 


THE  HEATHENS  OV  THE  HEATH. 


263 


{•""*jNn»|j:l 


aot  the  opponent  of  despotism,  it  commands  men  to  be 
gubmissiv  to  rulers,  and  history  tells  us  what  too  many 
ol  these  have  been.  You  surely  know  that  when  that  vile 
oppression,  the  slave  trade  existed,  the  bishops— your  high 
authorized  expounders— opposed  emancipation,  and,  like 
other  religious  doctors  interested  in  that  dreadful  traflQc, 
quoted  the  Bible  in  support  of  slavery.  I  have  no  faith  in 
your  Bible,  I  sometimes  begin  to  doubt  every  eo-called 
inspired  book— even  the  Vedas.  Inspiration!  Alas,  I 
sometimes  think  that  it  is  but  the  parent  of  superstition, 
the  ally  of  the  cunning  against  the  simple,  of  the  strong 
against  the  weak,  the  black  shadow  out  of  which  proceeds 
the  most  degrading  of  all  servitude— mental  slavery.  You 
speak  of  your  nation  being  great  with  its  thousands  of 
paupers — the  defrauded— which  are  still  increasing.  No, 
neither  England,  nor  any  other  country,  will  ever  be  truly 
great  while  a  few  are  permitted  to  own  nearly  all  the  land, 
and  almost  all  the  wealth ;  while  the  great  majority  have 
neither  land,  nor  a  mere  sufiQciency ;  while  thousands  are 
slaves  to  severe  labor,  and  while  tens  of  thousands  wander 
about  in  the  most  pitiable  state  of  penury,  many  wishing 
for  death  and  contemplating  a  hurried  termination  of 
their  existence. 

"You  speak  of  your  doubts,"  said  Miss  Meade,  "who 
has  not  had  them?  At  times  they  come  like  spectres 
pointing  to  an  abyss,  at  times  like  shining  angels  in  the 
light  of  dawn.  They  have  been  likened  to  the  shadow  of 
truth,  to  the  beginning  of  philosophy— What  are  they  ? 
perhaps  but  specious  dangers  at  best,"  and  then  after  a 
few  moments'  reflection  she  continued :  "  You  speak  of 
paupers,  why  should  such  be,  why  should  any  one  be  house- 
less or  homeless  ?  God  pity  them !— But  then  there  must 
be  some  poor,  some  sickly  and  infirm,  and  some  weeping 
like  the  children  of  sorrow ;  all  cannot  be  on  an  equality 
as  to  natural  gifts  or  wordly  circumstances." 

"  I  admit  that  to  some  extent,"  replied  Zingari,  **  but 
is  there  not  some  dreadful  abuse  in  the  terrible  dispropor- 
tioii  between  the  very  rich  and  the  very  poor  ?    There  are 


I 


n 


•I 

I 


264 


TEE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I|||| 


•■1:;  ■ 


existing  wrongs,  legalized  impostures,  and  consecrated 
frauds,  which  still  crush  thousands  down  to  poverty,  thou- 
sands who  have  vainly  spent  their  breath  in  manly  and 
determined  efforts  against  penury— how  much  have  kings 
and  priests  had  to  do  wi+h  this  grossly  uni  ast  and  unnatural 
condition  of  things?  Butali,"  said  she  solemnly,  while 
looking  upward  and  holding  out  her  clenched  hands,  "  I 
see  it,  it  is  coming,  it  is  coming,  and  Nemesis  shall  over- 
whelm the  usurpers,  shall  overwhelm  them  all.  Alas, 
child,  there  is  oi)pression  even  in  this  so-called  free  land. 
I  and  my  people  have  felt  it,  we  have  asked  for  but  little 
—we  met  with  persecution  and  I  met  with  my  first  great 
affliction,  the  loss  of  my  greatest  earthly  tie.  Alas  for 
Christian  pretensions,  your  missionaries  heard  our  cry, 
but  ran  off  to  distant  lands,  and  left  us  to  unfriendly 
priests  at  home.  But  stay,  as  you  have  said  so  much  as  to 
the  excellence  and  purity  of  your  Bible,  what  have  you  to 
say  as  to  the  character  of  some  of  its  ordained  expounders, 
those  riotous  reverends,  those  greedy  pharisees,  those 
audacious  pretenders,  that  you  seem  to  think  so  nec- 
essary ?** 

Esther  looked  up  for  a  moment  at  the  weird  face  of  her 
interrogator,  ai:\d  after  a  pause,  merely  said—"  All  are  not 
alike,"  she  then  turned  her  gaze  upon  some  distant  star 
and  remained  silent. 

For  a  little  time  Zingari  seeemed  to  study  the  upturned 
face  of  the  curate's  daughter.  The  moonlight  as  if  ming- 
ling with  Esther's  soft  eyes  must  have  reached  and  touched 
some  sensitive  vein  in  the  old  gypsy  woman's  heart,  for 
when  Miss  Meade  turned  to  speak,  she  heard  a  stifled  sob, 
and  she  saw  that  Zingari  was  bent  and  silently  weeping. 

Esther  really  pitied  the  poor  woman,  she  felt  at  the 
moment  that  Zingari  must  have  had  some  sorrowful  rec- 
ollection of  wrong,  perhaps  some  sad  reason  for  asking 
such  a  question  as  to  the  general  character  of  the  clergy. 

"Happy  for  you,  that  all  are  not  alike,"  said  Zingari, 
after  an  effort  to  speak,  "  happy  if  you  can  escape  from 
the  wretch  that  would  injure  you.    Happy  for  me,  if  I  had 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


265 


never  seen  one  of  your  clergy.  O,  child,  I  can  easily 
remember  when  you  were  scarcely  more  than  a  little 
creeping  thing  loved  by  Agnes— ah,  why  did  I  mention  her 
dear  name !— and  welcomed  by  all  in  our  camp.  Can  you 
remember  crazy  Agnes,  my  poor  stricken,  betrayed  Agnes? 
O,  how  like  you  are  to  her  now  I " 

"Yes,  I  can  still  remember  her,"  replied  Miss  Meade. 
"  Though  many  years  have  passed  since  she  sang  for  me, 
I  was  but  a  little  child  then,  and  I  have  never  heard  her 
history;  you  were  silent  as  to  her  fate,  3'^our  tribe  was 
silent,  and  my  father,  if  he  know  much  of  her,  scarcely 
ever  mentioned  her  name.  But  why  speak  of  her  as  your 
poor  betrayed  Agnes  ?  "  Esther  felt  truly  concerned,  and 
awaited  a  reply. 

The  tears  stood  again  in  Zingari's  eyes.  "  A  sad,  sad 
fate,"  at  last  she  replied,  *'  a  sad  fate  for  >ne  so  young,  so 
innocent,  and  so  beautiful— better  that  you  should  not 
hear  it  even  now.  Yes  my  poor  Agnes  was  betrayed  and 
sent  to  an  untimely  grave.  Cursed  be  her  deceivers,  hur- 
ried be  their  doom !  "  The  old  woman  now  started  up, 
and  looked  wildly  around,  her  eyes  flashed  in  the  moon- 
light, and  she  seemed  as  savage  as  a  tigress  that  would 
rush  upon  those  who  had  destroyed  her  young.  "God's 
curse  be  on  them,"  again  said  the  old  woman.  **0  A  gnes ! 
I  could  tear  thy  foul  bretrayer  limb  from  limb."  And 
then  in  a  few  moments  after  these  passionate  exclama- 
■".ions,  she  grew  calmer,  and  said :  "  But  better  let  him  to 
his  fate— the  doom  of  the  wicked  is  almost  certain— few 
shall  escape.  I  have  waited  for  this,  and  shall  wait  a  lit- 
tle longer."  The  old  woman  became  again  subdued,  she 
had  been  almost  overcome  by  the  vehemence  of  her  feel- 
ing, and  now,  as  the  poor  wi^ihered  thing  sat  crouched  at 
Esther's  feet,  she  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  and 
sobbed  aloud.  In  deep  sympathy  at  the  moment  with 
Zingari,  Miss  Meade  was  so  much  affected,  that  she  felt 
unable  to  utter  one  word  of  comfort  on  this  trying  occa- 
sion ;  she  merely  stooped,  and  then  tenderly  raising  tht 
oV]  woman's  h&uc*,  pressed  it  to  her  lips. 


la 


|t;::.^:  ^ 


mil 


m 


■'  I 


!■;■; 


w 


'■.     ^    ^ 


is» 


) 


Si 


It 


■11  Bij 
■•tU., 

■'■it 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HF.ATH. 

*  Angel  of  the  nisrht,  daughter  of  the  stars,  lily  of  tho 
moonbeams,"  at  last  murmured  Zingari,  *'  may  flowers 
ever  mark  thy  foo^steI)s,  may  the  raven's  wing  never 
shadow  thy  doorway,  may  no  hidden  serpent  ever  watch 
thy  path."  She  then  placed  her  hand  lovingly  upon 
Esther's  head,  and  muttered  some  words— i)erhaps  some 
prayer  or  incantation— in  an  unknown  tongue. 

"My  poor  stricken  friend,"  said  Miss  Meado,  "your 
cause  of  sorrow  must  be  great,  your  grief  must  be  severe. 
I  feel  touched  by  your  kind  words,  and  would  gladly  suffer 
to  relieve  you ;  but  even  now,  you  can  find  comfort,  if  you 
can,  from  your  heart,  pray  for  your  enemies  and  perse- 
cutors, and  for  all  who  have  brought  you  this  great 
trouble.    Forgive,  that  you  may  be  forgiven." 

"I  cannot  pray  for  fiends,"  said  Zingari,  hastily, 
"prayer  for  such  would  be  h^t  mockery.  I  might  forgive 
an  injury  done  to  myself,  bu.  I  cannot  forgive  the  terrible 
wrong  done  to  an  innocent  creature.  I  need  no  forgive- 
ness," she  continued,  resuming  her  wonted  energy,  "for 
I  have  harmed  none — neither  God  nor  nr  an." 

Upon  a  little  reflection.  Miss  Meade  thought  it  useless 
to  press  a  Scriptural  precept,  which  she  believed  tho 
gypsy  woman  well  knew  was  scarcely  ever  followed  by 
individual  Christians,  either  lay  or  clerical ;  and  perhaps 
never  by  Christian  nations.  Zingari  was  naturally  quick 
in  detecting  a  fallacy,  and,  in  her  present  mood,  would  be 
unsparing  in  her  caustic  remarks  against  texts  or  maxims 
so  far  beyond  human  nature  as  to  be  practically  overlook- 
ed by  priest  and  people. 

"I  have  harmed  none,"  continued  Zingari.  "During 
my  long  life,  I  have  had  many  opportunities  of  crushing 
those  who  have  injured  me,  but  my  nature— such  as  it  is— 
was  often  superior  to  revenge,  and  I  have  waited  to  see 
retribution  come  without  being  sought  for.  I  cannot  have 
long  to  live ;  and  if  you  choose  to  listen,  I  will  now  tell 
you  something  of  my  life ;  and  in  this  lonely  place,  you 
shall  also  hear  something  concerning  poor  Agnes,  and  of 
her  sad  fate. 


.■  li 


'>? 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


M7 


It  is  now  a  few  months  over  a  century  since  I  was 
l)rought  to  this  country  by  an  English  family  returning 
from  India.  You  look  surprised  at  this  statement,  yet  it 
is  true.  I  was  seven  years  old  when  I  left  Bombay,  and  if 
I  live  until  next  March,  I  shall  be  108  years  old;  and 
though  this  is  calUjd  a  great  age— there  are  other  persons 
older— yet  I  feel  more  vigorous  at  the  present  time  than 
mctst  people  do  at  seventy ;  a  regular  life  makes  the  differ- 
ence, and  were  it  not  for  my  many  troubles— for  that 
greatest  of  all  miseries,  the  loss  of  one  dearer  to  me  than 
life— and  the  bitter  misfortunes  of  poor  Agnes,  I  should 
have  fewer  wrinkles  in  my  face,  and  have  still,  perhaps, 
some  of  the  dark  silken  hair,  which  it  was  said,  added  so 
much  to  the  personal  attractions  which  I  may  have  had  in 
my  youthful  days.  The  gentleman  in  whose  family  I  was 
more  companion  than  servant,  was  an  officer  in  the  ser- 
vice of  the  East  India  Comtiany.  He  remained  in  India, 
and  survived  scarcely  a  year  after  the  departure  of  his 
family.  You,  of  course,  remember  the  history  of  that 
eminent  Christian  Governor,  Warren  Hastings,  who  was 
sent  to  civilize,  and  perhaps  to  help  to  Cliri -^tianize  India, 
and  whose  career,  like  too  many  others  of  his  class,  was 
but  one  of  tyranny  and  plunder;  he  was  the  cause  of 
great  disaffection  among  the  natives,  and  in  an  endeavor 
to  suppress  one  of  the  many  uprisings  of  the  time,  this 
officer  was  killed.  The  pension  allowed  his  family  was 
not  very  great,  and  my  mistress,  who  was  a  very  good 
woman,  though  a  professing  Christian,  did  her  best  to 
make  this  pension,  with  a  few  other  resources,  answer  to 
support  her  family,  and  to  eduuite  her  little  daughter— a 
^irl  about  my  own  age— and  myself.  The  family  was  for- 
tunately n  »t  large- the  lady  and  her  daughter,  myself,  and 
my  aunt,  who,  though  a  Hindoo  woman,  and  a  sincere 
believer  in  the  sacred  Vedas,  became  so  much  attached  to 
her  mistress  as  to  volunteer  to  accompany  her  to  Eng- 
land. I  was  then  an  ori)han,  and  as  1  had  been  a  favor- 
ite in  thv  family  previous  to  its  depaiLure  from  India, 
[,  of  oourse,  could  not  be  left  behind. 


I- 


*'■  ..»;, 


^•"siiai  '-  '■ 

^M  t 

r,»i!!lt;     ! 


\\  r 


ml 


»f 


lit.* 


268 


THE  HEATH KN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


In  addition  to  this  number,  we  had  two  ordinary  aerv- 
ants.  We  lived  in  a  pleasant  part  of  Ejigland,  not  many 
miles  from  Pendell,  wliore  we  now  are.  I  was  sent  to 
school  with  the  lady's  daughter;  I  was  instruoted  in 
almost  every  usoful  branch,  and  even  had  the  benefit  of 
some  accomplishments,  which  were  willingly  paid  for  by 
my  good  mistress;  indeed,  I  was  almost  treated  as  the 
equal  of  little  Mary,  her  daughter.  But  though  the  lady's 
great  desire  was  to  make  me  a  Christian;  though  I  had 
attended  church,  and  in  course  of  time  had  become  as 
well  acquainted  with  the  contents  of  the  Bible  as  tho 
most  advanced  in  our  classes,  yet  my  aunt  was  so  rigid  in 
her  faith— though  by  no  means  rigid  in  her  practice— that 
she  always  succeeded  in  counteracting  the  teachintrs  of 
any  Christian  friends  who  would  have  me  become  a  prose- 
lyte, and  in  convincing  me,  by  sound  reason  and  argu- 
ment, that  our  ancient  creed  was  far  superior  to  Chris- 
tianity—was, in  fact,  the  source  from  which  that  and  mU 
other  creeds  had  been  drawn ;  and  in  this  belief  I  havo 
still  continued  and  ever  shall  remain. 

Well,  in  course  of  time,  my  kind  friend  and  mistress 
died;  my  poor  aunt  died  shortly  afterward;  my  com- 
panion—I might  almost  call  her  sister  —Mary,  got  married 
and  removed  to  a  distant  part  of  the  country,  and  in  less 
than  three  yoars  afterward,  I  heard  of  her  decease.  I  was 
now  left  alone,  I  someway  found  but  little  sympathy  from 
Christian  people,  and  still  less  from  many  who  called 
themselves  Christian  missionaries.  It  had  been  asserted 
that  I  was  obstinate  in  my  disbelief  in  the  true  faith,  and 
that  I  had  treated  its  teachers  with  contempt,  yet  notwith- 
standing this,  and  my  being  looked  upon  as  a  heathen,  I 
found  some  of  your  State  Church  ministers  approach  me 
for  another  purpose ;  they  spoke  of  my  charms,  and  even 
offered  me  tempting  inducements  to  become  their  slave. 

Fortunately  I  was  not  left  without  a  little  means,  and 
1  succeeded  in  escaping  every  snare.  Few  can  ever  tell 
how  many  impoverished  creatures,  how  many  friendless 
and  deatitute  women  have  been  lured  to  sin,  and  dragged 


1tfi»; 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


269 


down  to  Infamy,  by  the  specious,  unscrupulous  wiles  of 
ministers  of  the  gospel.    In  her  will  my  kind  mistress  had 
left  me  a  hundred  pounds ;  by  the  death  of  my  poor  aunt 
I  received  nearly  an  equal  amount,  besides  a  few  valua- 
bles, and  as  I  happened  at  that  time  to  visit  a  camp  of 
wandering  gypsies,  I  found  that  they  were  the  descend- 
ants of  an  Indian  race,  that  many  of  them  understood  my 
native  language,  and  that  thoir  religious  ideas  were  in 
most  respects  like  my  own.    I  had  become  disgusted  with 
Christian  priests,  dissatisfied  with  Christian  people,  and 
stung  by  their  pretensions,  and  shocked  at  the  dishonesty, 
the  drunkeness,  the  brutality,  and  almost  the  general 
immorality  of  nearly  all  classes  who  assumed  to  be  super- 
ior every  way,  not  only  to  my  own  nation  and  race,  but  to 
all  other  people,  that  I  was  glad  to  be  received  and  treat- 
ed as  an  equal  by  others  who  were  generally  supposed  to 
be  less  honest,  less  moral,  and  less  civilized.    To  be  plain, 
I  found  the  change  most  agreeable ;  numbers  of  the  Eng- 
lish peasantry  I  had  found  to  be  the  veriest  boors,  wretch- 
edly poor,  savage,   ignorant,  and  superstitious,  such  as 
they  were  until  lately,  upon  the  Heath,  and  such  as  can 
be  still  found  in  many  cities,  towns  and  counties,  of  this 
far  famed  island,  and  exceeding,  in  proportion  to  their 
numbers,  the  degredation  of  any  similar  class  of  people  in 
all  India.    What  a  telling  lecture  might  be  given  in  rela- 
tion to  the  vast  sums  of  money  wasted  in  extravagant 
missionary  enterprises,  and  upon  the  visionary  attempts 
of  headstrong,  persistent,  romantic  missionaries  to  civi- 
lize and  Christianize  the  heathen  in  distant  lands  while 
blindly  neglecting  the  thousands  of  a  more  vicious,  more 
barbarous,  and  a  more  debased  population,  even  in  this 
very  land  of  Britian.    Verily,  no  folly  can  surpass  the 
vagaries  of  your  impulsive  fanatical  missionaries ! 

I  had  been  scarcely  a  month  with  my  new  friends  when 
the  chief  man— some  called  him  the  king— of  the  gypsy 
tribes  paid  us  a  visit.  He  was  young,  very  intelligent  and 
of  fine  appearance.  His  manner  was  most  agreeable,  he 
seemed  to  be  beloved  by  all  his  people,  and  to  me,  in  par- 


IB 


ni«»i»«i 


"■e<qi^iM*"? 


% 

» 

IS  » 


'»• 

i 

• 
■  ^ 

4 

1 

! 

') 

:5 
■ 

i 
i 

\ 

unit. 


270 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ticular,  he  paid  the  greatest  attention.    Ab!  me,  what 
happy,   iiappy   days!    He    must    have   possessed    some 
strange  power  of  fascination,  for  cautious,  as  I  then  was, 
I  soon  found  that  he  had  won  my  affections ;  that  the 
world  without  him  would  be  to  me  a  dreary,  dreary  wasle. 
But  oh,  happiness !    I  shortly  afterwards  discovered  that 
he  loved,  that  he  worshiped,  that  he  adored  me.    Then 
came  the  rainbow  of  my  life ;  then  came  the  glorious  sun- 
light of  my  existence ;  then  came  the  silvery  moonbeams 
by  night— brighter  than  these;  then  sprang  up  the  modest 
early  flowers  at  dawn,  glittering  with  dew ;  then  came  tho 
languid  rose  at  noon,  yielding  its  rich  perfume  in  the 
shade ;  then  came  the  gentle  lily  quivering  in  the  evening 
air,  and  crowned  with  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun;  and 
then  again  came  the  moonbeams,  and  the  soft  song  of  the 
nightingale ;  and  again  came  the  glittering  host  of  heaven 
to  look  down  upon  cur  happiness.    O  God !  why  does  not 
my  heart  burst  when  1  think  of  this  lost  felicity !    Is  there 
a  heaven  that  will  restore  it,  is  there  a  hereafter  that  will 
unite  us  again  ?   If  so  let  it  come  soon.    O  Seraphic  vision 
of  departed  bliss,  stay,  still  linger  before  me,  and  let  thy 
bright,  thy  golden,  thy  beautiful  wing,  bear  me  onward 
and  waft  me  at  last  to  my  lost  love— to  my  long  lost  angel !  " 
While  the  shimmering  waves  now  seemed  melted  into 
moonlight,  Zingari  was  again  stooped  and  sobbing,  ami 
Esther's  d>es  were  streaming  with  tears. 


m 


>i*\'V^i 


"«•, 


>•♦...« 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

ZINGARI  AND  ADBIAN. 

TITHEN  Zingari  was  able  to  resume  her  narrative  ehe 
'  '  said:  "For  over  twelve  years  my  married  life  was 
almost  one  delightful  period  of  unalloyed  happines.  Adri- 
an and  I  seemed  to  have  but  one  soul,  one  heart,  one  de- 
sire, and  that  was  to  make  each  other  happy.  I  never 
knew  a  being  of  greater  nobility  of  spirit,  greater  purity 
of  thought,  greater  simplicity  of  desire,  or  one  of  greater 
disinterestedness.  Our  people  loved  us,  and  thciigh  our 
habits  were  industrious,  little  labor  was  permitted  us, 
for  we  were  cheerfully  supplied  with  most  of  the  simple 
necessaries  which  we  required ;  we  always  had  more  thaa 
sufficient,  and  were,  therefore,  well  enabled  to  help  many 
poor  strangers  who  craved  our  charity  or  assistance.  All 
was  sunshine.  I  seemed  to  inhabit  a  new  and  beautiful 
world  where  there  was  little  or  no  care.  The  earth  ap- 
peared to  be  but  a  paradise  of  brightness  and  flowers, 
with  intervening  green  fields,  gentle  hill  slopes,  shaded 
vales,  mossy  rocks,  and  clear  running  streams.  We  sel- 
dom remained  long  in  one  place— perhaps  a  week ;  some- 
times a  month ;  and  then  we,  and  a  number  of  our  people, 
wandered  away  to  some  other  beautiful  spot,  where  we  fixed 
our  tents  and  traded  with  the  inhabitants.  We  offered  them 
lor  sale  strange  little  baskets,  curiously  made  ornaments, 
vases  for  flowers,  fancy  articles,  and  trinkets  of  different 
kinds.  In  most  places  we  were  readily  welcomed,  and 
troops  of  children  with  their  jjarents  would  visit  us  on 


..,-r'^ 


1li 


^1 


.SStko^ 


>td(t 


272 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


holidays.  We  had  music,  and  singing,  and  innocent 
games.  Sometimes  Adrian,  or  I,  or  one  of  our  people 
would  play  the  guitar,  and  then  we  would  have  a  dance,  in 
which  many  joined,  under  the  shade  of  some  great  oak ; 
and  often,  before  our  departure  from  a  neighborhood,  we 
received  many  little  presents,  and  many  tokens  of  regret 
from  those  who  had  visited  us. 

Thus  it  was  for  a  long  time — for  years— that  we  went 
from  place  to  place.  In  summer  time,  and  in  the  genial 
seasons,  we  generally  selected  rural  spots  which  gave  us  a 
view  of  the  sea ;  in  winter  time  we  sought  some  sheltered 
place  in  the  vicinity  of  villages  or  tow  .s.  Our  industry 
was  constant,  our  wants  were  few  and  we  almost  always 
had  an  abundance  of  all  that  was  really  needful.  Though 
we  laid  no  claim  to  any  portion  ot  the  land— we  had  no 
ownership  in  it— some  of  our  people  occasionally  got  per- 
mission to  cultivate  a  few  roods  by  a  road  side ;  we  left  the 
little  spot,  planted  or  sown,  and  returned  in  due  season  to 
dig  or  reap;  and  this  for  the  time  was  nearly  equal  to 
ownership  of  the  soil.  We  in  a  manner  looked  upon  the 
wide  earth  as  the  common  property  of  all,  and  many  of  us 
often  wondered  in  our  simplicity  why  it  was  that  some 
had  the  power  to  refuse  us  and  others  the  use  of  an  acre 
for  necessTiry  cultivation,  while  having  or  keeping  hun- 
dreds or  tiiuusands  of  aci  es  of  good  soil  lying  idle  and 
mi  productive ;  we  wondered  how  it  was  that  some  could 
revel  in  indolent  wealth,  while  others— the  far  greater 
number— were  doomed,  or  forced,  to  a  life  of  harassing 
toil,  and  extreme  poverty ;  it  was  to  us  at  the  time  really 
a  matter  of  surprise  why  such  extremes,  why  such  appar- 
ent favoritism  and  injustice,  were  permitted  to  exist. 

The  common  desire  of  our  little  community  was  to 
make  the  most  of  life,  to  enjoy  its  innocent  pleasures, 
and  enable  others— even  strangers— to  do  the  same.  In 
this  way  years  passed.  Ah  how  rapidily!  I  forgot  that 
there  was  such  a  thing  as  care,  and  I  little  dreamed  at  the 
time  that  those  days  of  bliss  could  ever  have  an  end. 
Alas  for  my  inexperience!    What  did  I  know  of  the  great 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


973 


world  and  its  wiles?    A  Irian  and  home  were  then  the 
world  to  me,  and  while  in  the  midst  of  peace  and  felicity, 

•    fancy  was  nnal»le  to  conjure  up  any  . ;  aJow  of  ap- 

,  oaehing  sorrow.  How  often  do  we  forget,  while  admir- 
ing the  rainbow,  and  the  yellow  tinted  clouds,  wliich  may 
appear  at  sunrise,  that  these  are  perhaps  but  the  precur- 
Bors  of  a  day  of  storm  and  gloom ! 

As  tribes  of  the  gypsy  community  were  to  be  found 
here  and  there  in  different  parts  of  the  country,  it  of  ton 
happened  that  my  husband  would  pay  them  a  visit.  This 
h-  was  expected  to  do,  it  was  in  fact  a  kind  of  duty  in- 
cumbent on  him  as  chief  man.  At  first  I  used  to  accom- 
pany him,  always  attended  by  one  or  more  of  our  people, 
but  in  course  of  time,  when  I  had  two  little  daughters  to 
talie  care  of — one  about  two  years  older  than  the  other— 
I  found  it  inconvenient  to  leave  them,  and  had  therefore 
to  remain  in  camp  with  our  friends ;  and  though  at  such 
times  Adrian  would  make  the  shortest  possibly  stay,  yet  I 
found  the  days  dreary  and  wearisome  until  his  longed  for 
return. 

It  was  on  one  of  these  occasions  of  his  absence,  that 
our  first  difficulty,  I  might  say  our  first  great  trouble  with 
strangers  commenced  ;  ending,  alas,  some  time  afterwa^  d 
in  what  was  to  me  the  most  terrible  afflction.  We  had 
l>ut  lately  moved  to  a  neighborhood  which  had  been  but 
seldom  visited  by  our  people.  Several  of  the  inhabitants, 
mostly  those  called  the  peasantry,  came  as  usual  to  see 
us.  We  traded  little  articles  with  them,  and  afterwards 
entertained  them  and  tlieir  children  with  songs  and  sto- 
ries ;  and,  as  the  night/-  were  fine,  many  would  remain 
.th  us  until  a  late  hour.  One  Sunday  evening  in  partic- 
ular, a  great  number  of  persons  flocked  to  our  camp. 
They  must  have  thought  the  gypsies  a  wonderful  pcoi)le ; 
tiioy  found  them  agreeable,  entertaining,  and  often  instruc- 
tive ;  quite  honest  and  harmless,  and  not  *he  thieves 
and  vagabonds  such  as  they  had  been  too  often  repre- 
sented. Well,  while  in  the  midst  of  some  innocent  sport, 
I  think  I  was  the  first  to  observe  two  mounted  men  gallop 


a 


t 


I 

1 


274 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


Aii^' 


mt.tl 


■if^' 


,iil! 


an  I ' 


hurriedly  to  where  we  were.    It  was  a  summer's  evenlnpr, 
and  one  of  the  strangers  seemed  to  be  heated  and  angry, 
and  he  shouted  in  an  excited  manner  before  he  reached 
us.    I  then  noticed  that  several  of  the  i  )eoi)le  tried  to  st  ea  I 
away,  as  if  afraid  of  being  detected  in  the  commission  of 
some  great  offence.     Upon  inquiry  I  found   that  it  was 
the  rector  of  the  p.'trish  with  a  bailiff  that  visited  us.    The 
rector  spoke  in  a  loud  and  authoritative  voice,  his  words 
were  threatening  and  his  gestures  violent;  and    many 
persons  present,  especially  the  women  and  children,  ap- 
peared to  be  much  afraid  of  him.    It  seemed  that  very 
few  of  the  laboring  class  cared  to  attend  church,  and  for 
some  time  many  of  them  had  altogeth(jr  neglected  to  ap- 
pear there.    This  indifference  no  doubt  shocked  the  pious 
feelings  of  his  reverence,  and,  possibly  anxious  for  the 
safety  of  the  souls  of  those  whom  he  called.  '  his  people,' 
he  took  this  method  of  reproving  them  for  their   careless- 
ness; and  for  that  which  he  called  the  open  violation  of 
the  law  of  the  land.    This  reproof  was  not  very  gentle  foi- 
he  denounced  them  as  heathens,  infidels,  dissenters,  and 
open  Sabbath   breakers,  and   assured  them  in  forcible 
terms,  that  he  would  commit  them  all  to  prison  for  their 
studied  contempt  of  both  law  and  g       el.    He  then  refer- 
red to  us  as  being  a  noted  set  of  wandering  thieves  and 
impostors,  wily  and  deceitful,  deluding  others  into  unbe- 
lief and  destruction ;  and  as  we  were  therefore  considered 
even  more  guilty  than  the  others,  we  were  of  course  in- 
cluded in  his  threat  of  punishment. 

Though  many  of  the  women  were,  as  I  have  said,  mucli 
afraid  of  this  reverend  detective,  not  one  of  our  people 
seemed  to  care  for  the  stormy  berating  of  the  rector. 
Even  when  he  beeuine  most  excited,  some  of  our  men  only 
stretched  themselves  lazily  out  before  him,  and  smiltni 
and  smoked  their  pipes  as  if  amused  by  his  vociferations ; 
v/hile  others  tried  to  reassure  those  who  had  been  intim- 
idated. This  conduct  must  have  greatly  en^-aged  tie  'ioly 
mti n.  To  be  treated  with  such  indignity  was  dvidently  an 
unpardonable   offenoe— he  at  once   oi.^ered  '-Lt  attend 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


275 


ant  bailiflf  to  take  down  the  names  of  such  as  he  knew, 
and,  if  possible,  to  fln(^  out  the  names  of  every  offender 
present,  in  order  that  all  should  be  summoned  to  appear 
before  the  court  of  his  reverence  on  the  following  morn- 
ing. 

Sure  enough,  next  day  at  an  early  hour,  five  or  six  of 
our  men,  and  as  many  of  our  women,  were  cited  to  appear 
and  answer  for  the  offence  of  Sabbath  breaking  and  pro- 
lane  sei>l!ing.  I  was  fortunately  not  included  among  the 
offenders,  and,  anxious  to  conciliate,  I  thought  it  best  to 
pay  an  early  visit  to  the  rector,  for  he  was  to  be  the  mag- 
istrate, and  I  might  say,  the  sole  judge  and  jury  in  the 
matter;  but  I  could  gain  no  admittance,  he  would  neither 
see  me,  nor  listen  to  any  plea  that  might  be  offered,  and 
before  the  noon  of  that  day,  over  a  dozen  persons,  men 
and  women  were  convicted  by  his  humane  reverence  and 
lined  a  crown  each,  with  costs ;  and  in  default  of  im.medi- 
ate  payment,  each  person  was  to  be  committed  to  prison 
for  one  week  at  hard  labor.  In  this  extremity,  I  called 
again.  Few  of  the  gypsies  had  any  money  to  spare ;  the 
penalty  might  be  considered  small  by  those  who  had 
means,  but  it  was  a  large  amount  to  those  who  had  no- 
thing, and  I  was  informed  that  none  of  the  poor  working 
people  who  were  among  the  convicted,  could  possibly  pay 
the  extortionate  demand;  some  were  absolutely  without 
a  farthing,  and  I  pited  them.  The  rector  admitted  me 
this  time ;  he  had  been  probably  somewhat  appeased  by 
the  triumph  of  justice  at  his  hand.  Though  I  had  not 
seen  him  for  years,  I  knew  him  at  a  glance— more  portly 
and  florid  than  he  was  when  he  first  approached  me  with 
an  infamous  proposal.  He  must,  however,  have  forgotten 
me.  He  looked  like  a  man  that  lived  high  and  drank 
much,  and  that  was  evidently  sensual  enough  to  seek 
indulgence  of  the  basest  passions.  I  did  not  misjudge 
him.  He  wis  more  than  civil  to  me— rather  too  free  in 
his  manner— but  I  thought  it  best  to  be  od  my  guard,  to 
say  nothing  that  might  irritate,  but  rather  to  accept  tlio 
compliments  he  paid  me.     He  would,  however,  admit 


1 .  ...  , 


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, p-r- 


m    -  m 


276 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


u 


i 


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of  no  plea  for  his  parishioners,  and  to  prisoii  Ihey  were 
sent.*    The  cases  of  the  gypsies,  though  aggravated  by 
their  demeanor  toward  him,  he  would,  for  my  sake,  he 
said,  take  into  consideration,  and  in  the  meantime  delay 
proceedings  until  the  return  of  my  husband.    That  eve- 
ning the  rector  visited  our  camp ;  easy  and  jocular,  as  if 
he  had  been  one  of  ourselves,  or  intimate  with  us  for 
years.    I  had  much  to  do  to  prevent  him  from  being 
insulted;  as  it  was,  he  got  but  sullen  looks  and  a  frail  dis- 
guise of  contempt.    The  gypsies  can,  like  others,  be  re- 
sentful, but  can  also  as  readily  forgive.     The  rector's 
offence  was  not  trivial ;  his  treatment  of  them  was  a  wan- 
ton injury,  yet  on  my  account,  and  knowing  his  power  and 
inliuence,  he  was  suffered  to  call  and  to  depart  without 
hearing  any  offensive  observations.     The  next  day  he 
called,  and  the  day  after ;  he  evinced  a  desire  to  become 
familiar,  and  it  was  soon  noticed  that  he  paid  obtrusive 
attentions  to  a  handsome  woman,  the  young  wife  of  one 
of  our  men.    A  quarrel  ensued,  I  could  not  prevent  it,  and 
the  rector  was  driven  with  curses  and  bitter  reproaches 
from  our  camp. 

After  this,  no  one  could  be  more  base  or  treacherous ; 
he  sent  a  bailiff  to  collect  the  fines ;  my  husband  had  but 
just  returned,  and  he  called  upon  the  reverend  magistrate 
to  pay  the  penalties,  as  the  easiest  mode  of  getting  rid  of 
the  trouble,  but  fresh  troubles  followed.  After  the  rector 
had  sent  some  of  his  poor  parishioners  to  prison,  a  great 
uproar  took  place,  and  about  midnight  some  of  his  prop- 
erty was  maliciously  injured,  and  some  was  stolen.  We 
knew  nothing  of  this,  for  Adrian  had  determined  upon 
removal  from  the  place,  and  he  had  already  sent  on  some 
of  our  things :  and  though  the  weather  had  become  very 
cold,  wet  and  stormy,  he  would  not  remain,  but  in  hi-^ 
eagerness  to  get  away,  he  failed  to  take  the  usual  precau- 
tions, and  was  for  some  hours  under  a  drenching  rain 
while  going  forward  to  our  new  ground.    The  next  daj^  he 

•  See  Note  18. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


277 


'•I.. .. 


felt  very  poorly;  we  had  barely  time  to  fix  our  tents  and 
get  things  arranged  in  our  new  location,  before  he  had  to 
lie  down;  by  evening  he  grew  worse,  and  before  it  was 
dark,  news  had  reached  us  that  greatly  aggravated  his 
symptoms.  We  heard  that,  on  the  night  of  our  departure, 
another  unlawful  visit  had  been  paid  to  the  rector's  prem- 
ises, and  that  his  stables  and  out-houses  had  been  burnt 
to  the  ground ;  that  his  horses  had  been  saved  with  dififi- 
culty,  but  that  much  valuable  property  had  been  destroy- 
ed; and  worse  than  all,  it  had  been  asserted  by  his 
reverence,  that  it  was  all  the  work  of  the  vagabond  gypsies 
—one  or  more  of  his  outraged  parishioners  were,  no  doubt, 
the  real  culprits— but  in  the  excitement,  our  people,  who 
were  really  innocent,  were  wantonly  charged  with  the 
offence. 

This  report  had  a  very  bad  effect  upon  my  husband,  his 
fever  increased,  he  raved  wildly  through  the  night;  by 
daylight  he  grew  calmer,  and  obtained  a  little  sleep,  and 
while  in  this  state  of  repose,  he  was  rudely  disturbed  by 
two  constables,  who  had  a  warrant  for  his  arrest  as  prin- 
cipal in  the  arson  lately  committed.  Some  of  our  men 
became  furious,  and  were  fully  prepared  to  resist  the  con- 
stables. Adrian  again  became  delirous,  and  his  other 
symptoms  grew  alarming.  Among  ourselves  we  almost 
always  treat  our  own  sick,  but  in  this  case  I  found  it  nec- 
essary to  send  for  a  physician ;  his  certificate  was  any  way 
requisite  to  satisfy  the  constables  that  their  prisoner  could 
uot  be  removed.  It  was  with  difficulty  after  all  that  we 
got  these  men  to  leave  us,  they  paid  little  regard  to  my 
feelings,  they  seemed  to  care  nothing  for  the  distress  they 
caused  us,  and  it  was  not  until  the  doctor,  who  was  a 
humane  person,  gave  heavy  bonds  for  the  appearance  of 
my  husband  upon  his  recovery,  that  they  went  away. 

Gracious  heavens,  what  days  and  what  nights  followed  I 
Prostrate  before  us  all,  raviny  and  helpless,  lay  the  pride 
of  my  life,  the  waning  star  of  my  existence,  my  love,  my 
hopo,  my  all.  01  God,  what  a  change  from  manhood, 
health,  and  beauty,  to  the  poor,  pale,  blighted,  withering 


'nB 


!J., 


f  :•;  i: 


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I:  i 


fU 

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J|S|: 

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I 


«   • 


-.la-M 


278 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


creature  before  us !  All  that  could  be  done  was  done ;  the 
devotion  of  our  people  was  most  affecting.  I  sat  by  him 
night  and  day,  I  alone  moistened  his  parched  lips,  and 
heard  his  faintest  whisper,  and  waited  and  waited  to 
hear  him  breathe  my  name.  Sleep  seemed  to  have  left 
me  forever,  but  how  dreadful  were  my  waking  dreams! 
Days  and  nights  must  have  again  passed  away  when  I 
seemed  suddenly  awakened  from  one  of  these  wretched 
fancies.  Was  it  the  awful  silence  that  whispered  me  to 
listen?  Ha!  that  was  my  name.  O  God!  O  Adrian! 
There  he  still  lay,  his  eyes  now  pleading  to  mine.  I 
looked  from  him  to  those  now  around  us.  It  was  night 
and  the  feeble  light  cast  a  melancholy  ray;  and  there 
stood  the  doctor  as  if  marking  his  last  pulsations.  Would 
thej'^  had  been  mine!  *Zingari.'  Yes!  Great  God,  why 
calls  Adrian  now!  I  clasped  my  hands  and  looked  from 
him  again  in  terror.  Was  it  that  wild  look  of  mine  that 
bid  them  weep  ?  O  yes,  they  wept  and  were  sobbing,  and 
some  of  the  little  gypsy  children  who  would  stay  near  us 
were  weeping  and  sobbing  too.  But  I  could  not  drop  a 
tear.  Those  poor  fading  eyes  then  looked  upon  all  affec- 
tionately, and  then  turned  again  to  me  pleading  and  piti- 
ful, as  if  to  look  a  last  adieu.  *  Zingari.'  My  name  whis- 
pered again!  *Yes,  I  am  by  thy  side.'  By  an  effort  he 
laid  his  hand  in  mine— the  blood  seemed  to  rush  from  my 
heart.  That  attenuated  hand  was  now  cold  and  clammy, 
the  touch  of  death  was  on  it.  When  I  knelt,  the  others 
did  the  same;  there  were  tear ;,  but  not  a  sob  was  now 
heard,  the  only  sound  was  the  faint  moan  of  the  melan- 
choly night  wind.  Ho  must  have  thought  it  a  call  for 
him ;  his  last  smile  caroo  with  his  last  words— his  solemn 
but  his  affectionate  parting— ' Zingari,  Zingari,  we  shall 
meet  again.'  " 

Here  Zingari  was  onco  more  completely  overcome ;  the 
tears  poured  fast  down  her  sunken  cheeks,  and  she  was 
an  object  of  sincere  pity  to  Esther,  who  now  felt  totally 
unable  to  control  her  own  feelings  of  sorrow. 

After  a  mournful  sih-nco  the  poor  old  gypsy  woman 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


279 


>maD 


spoke  again :  **  It  was  oui  last,  sad  parting.  I  never  saw 
him  again.  I  must  liave  swooued  at  tiie  moment  of  hla 
deatli,  and  the  lurliing  fever,  whioh  I  mu.st  have  hitherto 
controlled  by  some  powerful  moral  influence,  had  now 
full  sway,  and  boiled  in  my  blood,  and  burned  in  my  brain, 
and  left  me  raving  and  senseless.  For  over  a  month  I  lay 
prostrate  and  unconsciouB,  oscillating  between  life  and 
death.  O,  would  that  death  had  then  the  victory  1  O  that 
oblivion,  or  nirvana,  had  come  to  save  me  from  that  ter- 
rible loneliness  of  heart,  and  from  all  future  sorrows! 
More  than  a  month  had  been  as  completely  blotted  out  of 
my  life  as  if  I  had  no  existence  during  that  period.  But 
reason  dawned  again,  reason  that  brought  me  a  dread  rec- 
ollection of  what  had  lately  passed.  How  I  then  wished 
for  death!  By  degrees  I  was  informed  of  Adrian's  inter- 
ment; of  the  refusal  of  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  in 
which  we  then  were,  to  permit  the  sacred  remains  of  my 
husband  to  desecrate  the  place  of  Christian  burial.  This 
clergyman  had  sympathized  with  his  clerical  brother 
whose  property  was  said  to  have  been  destroyed  by  us ; 
and  was  not  Adrian  in  his  sight  an  unconvicted  felon,  and 
worse,  an  unconverted  heathen  ?  No  better  did  he  think 
him ;  and  the  idea  of  permitting  him  to  rest  in  consecrat- 
ed ground  with  the  baptized  dead  of  the  Church,  could 
not  be  thought  of.  Burial  was  refused.  Many  of  the  hum- 
ble laborers  of  the  neighborhood  felt  for  us,  and  would 
willingly  have  overruled  the  d'  cision  of  the  uncharitable 
j)riest,  but  they  were  powerless— the  law  was  on  his  side.* 
The  gyjKsies  would  not,  however,  put  their  beloved  chief 
under  ground  in  a  common  field,  or  by  the  road  side,  and, 
as  we  were  then  not  far  from  this  place,  besides  having 
many  warm  friends  among  the  poor  rough  peo[)le  of  tbe 
Heath,  to  whom  my  husband  had  ol'teu  been  very  kind,  it 
was  privately  suggested  that  he  should  be  interred  at 
Pen  dell.    He  was  taken  away  from  me  in  the  night—I 


•  It  is  not  uneommon  for  clerical  bigots  to  refuse  Interment  to 
LhuBc  will)  have  uot  beeu  baptised  in  thti  State  Church. 


m 


>mti  . . 


^f 


If,      llf»l?' 


280 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


li 


^|IU|j|A| 


knew  nothing  of  it  at  tiie  time.  There  was  sorrow  ui)on 
the  Heath  when  his  loss  was  known,  and  if  a  rector  or 
parson  of  any  kind  had  interfered  to  dispute  his  right  to  a 
few  feet  of  earth  in  the  old  grave  yard,  I  believe  that  thoso 
wild  impulsive  creatures  would  have  torn  down  the  par- 
sonage, if  not  the  very  church  itself.  Our  friends  fortun- 
ately met  with  ho  hindrance.  You  were  not  then  born ; 
neither  did  your  father  yet  live  at  Pendell.  There  was,  I 
am  told,  a  great  procession  by  night,  and  there  were  hun- 
dreds that  were  seen  weeping  for  the  first  time,  whose 
hardened  natures,  it  was  said,  had  lost  the  feeling  that 
produces  tears.  That  guileless  old  man,  Stephen  Gray— 
who  was  then  young — had  a  giavt-  ready.  His  friend, 
Sarah  Afton,  held  a  lamp;  and  though  there  was  no 
religious  service,  no  formal  prayer,  or  no  funeral  rite, 
Adrian's  tomb  was  moistened  and  bedewed  with  tears,  and 
all  that  remained  of  my  poor  dear  husband  was  consigned 
to  the  earth,  more  like  the  ashes  of  a  real  prince  of  men, 
than  the  body  of  one  accused  of  crime,  and  hated  and 
despised  by  clerical  despots  who  knew  nothing  of  his  vir- 
tues. 

You  may  have  often  seen  his  grave ;  it  is  in  a  remote 
corner,  not  far  from  the  resting-place  of  the  ancient  Val- 
iant family.  Old  Stephen  Gray  can  point  it  out— I  must 
live  near  it  forever.  It  is  my  flower  garden ;  the  only 
little  spot  of  earth  that  I  cultivate.  There  I  often  watch 
my  lilies  in  the  moonlight,  and  wait  in  the  silent  night, 
and  gaze  at  the  distant  stars,  until  the  weeping  flowers 
mingle  their  tears  with  mine.  While  my  hand  has  still 
its  cunning,  roses  shall  ever  bloom  around  him.  See,  I 
have  one  of  them  here,"  and  Zingari  displayed  a  faded 
rose  pressed  close  to  her  heart,  **  and  when  I  pluck  an- 
other, I  hide  this  withered  thing  in  the  same  earth  that 
hides  him  who  was  the  sacred  lotus  flower  of  my  exist- 
ence. From  this  same  grave  I  have  often  listened  to  your 
music  at  midnight ;  and  the  solemn  tones  of  the  organ  in 
the  old  church  have  often  lured  me  to  dream  of  a  here- 
after. 


THF  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


281 


*Zingari,  wi;  shall  me  t  again.'  These  were  his  last 
words.  O  tell  me,  is  such  a  meeting  possible  .  Is  there  to 
be  a  hereafter,  a  happy  reunion  of  those  long  separated, 
a  never-ending  period  of  bliss  for  souls  that  are  immor- 
tal? la  there  an  Lverlasting?  Can  we  have  a  proof  of 
the  immortality  of  a  single  soul,  or  of  the  forever  of  a 
created  intoUigonce?  Forever!  O  thf  immensity  of  that 
unending  of  which  time  itself  is  but  tii  •  shadow!  O  the 
unceasing  changes  of  that  Forever!  Generation  after 
generation  to  pass  away,  the  mighty  works  of  man  to 
crumble,  immense  roclis  to  become  dust,  great  mountains 
to  wear  away,  the  vast  ocean  to  become  dry,  and  the  whole 
earth  itself  to  be  dissolved  into  its  original  vapor.  And 
then,  after  eons  of  ages,  suns,  stars  and  planets  to  fade  out 
and  still  intermiuable  cycles  of  time  to  be  perpetually 
flowing  onward,  flowing  onward  into  the  vast  abyss  of 
eternity,  and  still  to  be  no  nearer  the  end !  O,  that  incom- 
prehensible word,  Forever— that  overwhelming  idea  of 
duration— Eternity. 


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CHAPTER   XXVI. 

THE  STOBT  OF  AQNES. 

^^  A  SHORT  time  after  the  sorrowful  visit  to  Pendell," 
■^^  resumed  Ziiigari,  "we  moved  to  that  place— I 
wished  to  be  near  the  grave  of  Adrian.  At  first  the  people 
of  the  neighborhood  were  friendly— we  found  the  working 
class  always  so — but  the  evil  rumor  of  being  connected 
with  the  destruction  of  the  reverend  magistrate's  property 
followed,  anc'  many  persons  kept  away  as  if  afraid  of  being 
seen  with  us.  The  clergy  in  many  places  had  warned 
their  i)arishioners  to  give  us  no  further  ^;nv^ouragement ; 
they  were  mon  who  had  it  in  their  power  to  serve  or  to 
injure,  and  it  might  not  be  safe  to  oppose  their  wishes. 
In  old  times,  as  you  may  be  aware,  our  people  were 
dreadfully  persecuted  by  Popes,  and  other  fanatical 
Christian  rulers.  The  principal  Christian  nations  of 
Europe  vied  with  one  another  in  hanging,  and  burning* 
and  otherwise  brutally  persecuting  them  for  being  di- 
viners and  wicked  heathens  1*  As  it  was  now,  however, 
we  felt  that  we  were  suspected  and  watched,  and  that  the 
better  plan  would  be  to  remove  to  another  place  in  order 
that  time  might  enable  us  to  prove  how  false  were  the 
accusations  against  us,  and  how  peaceable  and  orderly  we 
could  be  among  those  that  were  willing  to  confide  in  our 
good  resolves.     The  people  of  the  Heath  proved  to  be 


*IaEn>;land  barbarous  decreoB  were  issued  a^rainstthe  sypsies 
by  KiDK  Heury  VIII  in  1631.  uud  by  Qiio.n  Elizuboth  iu  1663. 


THB  HEATHBNS  OF  THB  HSATH. 


S88 


our  friends.  Wretchedly  poor  and  de<jrraded  even  as  they 
then  were,  they  felt  that,  like  themselves  we  had  been 
badly  treated  by  most  of  the  clergy ;  they  sympathized 
with  us  in  our  misfortunes,  and  gave  us  an  invitation  to 
the  only  place  they  had  to  offer.  We  accepted  their  kind 
proposal.  Even  in  that  desolate  region  we  found  one 
pleasant  spot,  one  shaded  retreat,  at  some  distance  from 
the  noisy  taverns  on  the  Heath.  The  rough  toll-worn 
men  were  glad  to  see  us  come  among  them,  though  stern 
and  almost  savage  towards  most  others,  and  often  brutal 
among  themselves,  they  were  invariably  kind  to  us,  and 
many  of  them,  I  have  little  doubt,  would  have  died  for  our 
protection ;  and  for  years  we  have  lived  together  without 
alturcation  of  any  kind. 

As  I  said,  I  wished  to  be  near  the  graveyard ;  the  Heath 
is  not  far  from  Pendell— you  know  where  our  tents  are — 
and  I  could  travel  to  the  old  church  every  day  if  I  choso, 
or  steal  away  at  night,  as  I  often  do,  to  sit  by  that  grave, 
close  to  which  I  must  expect  before  long  to  be  laid  my- 
self. 

In  about  six  months  after  my  husband's  death  I  lost 
my  oldost  child ;  she  had  always  been  delicate,  and  having 
been  very  much  attached  to  her  father,  she  seemed  even 
at  her  infantile  age,  to  feel  ^rcjitl  y  depressed  at  his  loss. 
She  pined  away  and  died  quietly  in  my  arms— another 
sore  affliction— but  as  she  had  not  been  baptized  in  the 
Christian  sanctuary,  in  order  to  save  any  trouble  with  the 
rector  or  curate,  and  to  Insure  her  peaceable  interment 
in  so-called  consecrated  ground,  we  took  her  away  stealth- 
ily  by  night  and  laid  her  by  the  side  of  her  father. 

Well,  you  must  believe  that  the  additional  bereave- 
ment added  much  to  my  sorrow,  but  I  still  had  my  re- 
maining child  to  claim  my  attention,  and  to  save  me  from 
the  great  despondency  which  might  otherwise  follow. 
Rhe  grew  up  to  be  a  healthy,  beautiful  woman,  and,  In 
course  of  time,  she  became  the  wife  of  a  trader  who  used 
to  deal  among  our  people.  He  was  an  honest  person,  no 
believer  In  any  kind  of  religion,  and  had  no  national  pre- 


V- 


■tl 


il 


m 
tA 


f  tvi 


284 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dilections  to  interfere  with  his  sympathies  in  the  choice  of 
a  wife,  or  of  a  friend ;  and  none  could  be  of  a  more  genial 
or  humane  disposition.  Ho  liad  sufficient  means  to  Icee)) 
iny  daughter  comfortably;  and  their  married  life,  thougl) 

of  short  duration,  was  one  of  the  happiest. 

About,  a  month  after  their  marriage  they  removed  to  i 
distant  part  of  England ;  I  was  pressed  to  go  with  them, 
but  I  had  decided  to  remain.  Nearly  two  years  after- 
wards she  gave  birth  to  a  daughter — this  child  was  Agnos. 
She  was  the  only  child  they  ever  had,  and  all  that  could 
be  done  by  parents  to  educate  and  fit  her  for  a  higher 
station  was  done  by  them;  and  before  Agnes  was  fifteen 
years  of  age,  she  was  generally  considerec  to  be  the 
most  accomplished  girl  of  the  neighborhood  in  which 
she  resided.  A  little  after  this  her  father  removed  to  a 
village  not  far  from  the  city  of  Oxford,  and  they  were 
scarcely  well  settled  in  that  place  before  he  died  sud- 
denly. I  visited  my  daughter  at  that  time  and  offered  her 
such  consolation  as  I  could.— I  had  only  seen  her  twif^e 
previously,  since  her  marriage,  once  when  Agnes  was  born, 
and  once  afterward  when  she  had  a  severe  sickness.  I 
might  have  lived  with  my  daughter ;  her  husband  often 
entreated  me  to  do  so,  but  my  habits  of  life  were  so  estab- 
lished, that  I  could  not  live  away  from  my  gypsy  friends, 
nor  at  such  a  distance  from  that  sacred  spot  in  Pendell 
graveyard. 

For  some  time  after  this  sad  loss  my  daughter  contin- 
ued to  reside  near  Oxford.  Though  her  husband  had  lost 
in  certain  business  transactions,  still  he  left  sufficient 
means  to  enable  her  and  her  child  to  live  in  comparative 
comfort.  Agnes  became  a  fine  singer,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  she  was  induced  to  appear  at  public  concerts. 
Indeed  it  was  asserted  that  her  vocal  powers  were  a  great 
attraction  on  many  such  occasions;  and  whenever  her 
name  appeared  on  the  bills  a  crowd  was  sure  to  be  in 
attendance.  Her  mother  of  course  felt  proud  of  this. 
Agnes  was  even  mentioned  in  the  papers  as  one  yet  likely 
to  become  a  prirmi  clonna,  and  It  was  hinted  that  certain 


1*>' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


28' 


great  managers  of  London  Opera  Houses  had  an  eye  upon 
her. 

Agnes  in  person  was  simply  beautiful,  in  manner  mod- 
est, and  in  disposition  kind  an(f  confiding.  She  was  devo- 
ted to  her  mother,  and  the  liberal  sums  which  she  readily 
obtained  for  her  musical  services  were  at  onco  poured  into 
the  lap  of  her  loving  parent.  In  course  of  timehernameas 
a  singer  had  become  famous,  and  among  others  from  dis- 
tances far  and  near,  certain  students  from  Oxford  came  to 
hear  her.  Two  of  these  in  particular  paid  her  very  marked 
attention ;  they  were  divinity  students,  or  nominally  such, 
and  one  of  these  was  the  youngest  son  of  a  nobleman.  He 
had  heard  her  sing  at  the  Cathedral  in  Oxford,  to  which 
church  she  had  often  been  invited,  particularly  on  import- 
ant occasions,  as  if  to  make  the  services  more  attractive. 

You  are  probably  aware  that  it  is  quite  common  for  the 
aristocracy  to  secure  positions  in  the  Church  for  their 
younger  sons.  If  a  nobleman  has  four  sons,  he  generally 
manages  to  get  the  eldest  into  Parliament  with  a  view  to 
the  diplomatic  service,  or  to  a  higher  office ;  the  next  one 
he  gets  into  the  army;  the  next  into  the  navy;  and 
should  no  other  opening  be  found,  whereby  an  office 
may  be  monopolized,  the  portals  of  the  church  are  always 
open ;  for  the  episcopate  of  the  establishment  have  always 
had  a  pre!'erence  for  aristocratic  recruits ;  and  somehow 
these  scions  of  nobility  generally  succeed  after  ordination 
in  attaining  that  special  spiritual  grace  said  to  be  so  indis- 
pensable as  a  qualification  for  an  Episcojial  throne,  far 
sooner  than  men  more  learned,  or,  as  considered  by  many, 
more  worthy. 

Well,  these  two  divinity  students  were  evidently  great 
friends;  they  were  mostly  seen  together;  or  at  least, 
where  the  one  was,  the  other  was  sui :  to  be  if  possible. 
There  was  good  reason  for  this;  one,  as  I  have  said,  was 
the  son  of  a  lord,  the  other  was  the  son  of  a  poor  attor- 
ney, whose  limited  income  obliged  him  to  pinch  himself, 
and  live  as  sparingly  as  possible,  in  order  that  his  only 
son  might  be  enabled  to  gain  University  honors,  and 


till  |c||  ^ 


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M  r-l 


t       *  1      -    * 


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I;; 

'il 


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V 

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1.  ; 

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286 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


afterward,  perhaps,  through  the  influence  of  some  profli- 
gate Christian  who  had  the  presentation  of  livings  at  his 
disposal,  to  get  a  chance  of  entering  the  Chnrch.  The  son 
of  the  attorney,  familiarly  called  *  Tom '  by  intimates,  was 
of  a  wily,  servile  disposition,  and  something  peculiar  in 
his  manner  took  the  fancy  of  a  fellow-student,  the  Hon. 
Mr.  Vernay,  who  made  this  younj?  man  his  boon  compan- 
ion on  almost  all  occasions,  and  even  sui>plied  him  liboj- 
aliy  with  money  from  the  ample  allowance  granted  him 
by  his  noble  father.  Tom  knew  what  he  was  about ;  by 
every  act  he  cultivated  the  friendship  of  Vernay — friend- 
ship with  him  was  more  an  art  than  a  feeling— and,  with- 
out seeming  obsequious,  he  still  managed  to  regulate  his 
tastes  and  his  opinions  to  be  in  accord  with  those  of  hi.^ 
aristocratic  fellow-student. 

Vernay  was  struck  with  the  beautiful  face  of  Agnes ; 
her  voice  thrilled  him  as  no  other  voice  ever  did ;  he  soon 
began  to  feel  that  he  could  not  live  without  her;  and  it  is 
possible  that  he  would,  if  necessary,  have  resigned  title 
and  family  claims  to  call  her  his  own.  His  companion  was 
not  slow  to  discover  the  impression  which  Agnes  had 
made.  He,  too,  was  somewhat  struck  with  her  appear- 
ance, and  would  have  liked  to  make  advances  on  his  own 
account,  but,  following  his  usual  course  toward  Vernav, 
he  readily  gave  way  to  him ;  and  though  ho  lavished  much 
praise  upon  the  personal  charms  of  Agnes,  he  took 
good  care  to  leave  the  impression  that  he  was,  however, 
no  way  smitten  with  the  beautiful  singer ;  and  he  made  it 
a  point  to  turn  the  warm  feelings  of  Vernay  for  Agnes  to 
his  advantage  in  other  respects. 

Vernay,  being  rather  diflident— and  more  especially  so 
toward  the  object  of  his  affections,  scarcely  knew  how  to 
obtain  an  introduction  to  Agnes ;  a  mere  hint  to  his  friend, 
however,  was  sufflcient.  Tom,  who  could  be  forwrinl 
enough,  managed  to  bring  the  young  people  together. 
Vernay  Lad  a  delightful  interview,  for  which  he  felt  addi- 
tionally grateful  to  his  confident;  the  artful  Tom  had  said 
much  to  Agoes  in  praise  of  his  fellow-student,  and  it 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


287 


must  be  said  that  Agnes  herself  felt  greatly  interested  in 
the  noble  young  man  who  had  paid  her  so  many  compli- 
ments ;  and,  apart  from  family  connection— «  sentiment 
which  c^nid  not  influence  her  toward  him— she  secretly 
hoped  and  wished  that  the  impulsive  feelings  of  Vernay 
might  be  sincere,  and  might  ripen  into  love— a  love  which 
she  could  return. 

Months  passed  away,  the  interviews  between  Vernay 
and  Agnes  were  frequent,  and  mutual  love  was  the  result. 
Already  the  fame  of  Agnes  had  reached  London,  and  a 
splendid  professional  career  was  before  her.  Operatic 
managers  had  made  tempting  proposals;  these,  at  the 
intimation  of  Vernay,  she  at  once  declined,  and  for  this 
compliance  he  was  just  as  willing  to  make  a  sacrifice.  He 
well  knew  that  his  father's  aristocratic  ideas  would  never 
permit  him  to  consent  to  the  union  of  his  son  with  a  so- 
called  *  low-born  person,'  more  particularly  with  one 
allied  in  any  way  to  the  gypsy  race,  and  that  as  it  would 
be  useless  to  try  and  obtain  his  permission  to  a  connec- 
tion which  would  only  be  considered  degrading ;  Vernay, 
therefore,  resolved  to  forfeit  all  family  claims  and  get 
married  privately. 

It  must  be  said  that  Agnes,  though  willing  to  sacrifice 
all  for  him  she  loved,  disapproved  of  the  hasty  decision 
of  Vernay ;  she  advised  him  to  see  his  father,  and  if  all 
entreaties  failed,  he  might  then  do  as  he  thought  best ; 
any  way,  it  would,  she  thought,  be  better  to  wait ;  and  it 
was  with  reluctance  that  she  at  last  gave  her  consent  to 
be  clandestinely  married.  This  matter  being  then  so  far 
arranged  between  the  two  most  interested,  next  it  was 
considered  necessary  to  apprise  his  friend  Tom  of  their 
decision.  This  worthy  student  was  at  the  time  rather 
taken  aback ;  he  did  not  fancy  that  this  love  matter  had 
matured  so  quickly.  Though  from  the  first  an  admirer  of 
Agnes,  he  had  sufiQcient  policy  to  appear  indifferent  to  hor 
charms;  but  subsequent  intercourse  had  only  increased 
his  admiration,  and  while  pretending  to  plead,  or  to  nego- 
tiate  for  Vernay,  he  became  so  infatuated  himself,  that 


jr. 


111 


\hi 


ff« 


288 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  bare  idea  of  her  becoming  the  wife  of  another  madn 
him  resolve  to  delay,  and  finally  to  prevent,  if  possible, 
the  intended  union.  Wise  in  his  way,  he  hud  fully  gained 
the  confidence  of  Vernay,  and  he  approached  him  cau- 
tiously. He  advised  at  once  that  there  should  be  no 
unseemly  haste ;  would  it  not  be  better  to  give  his  noble 
father  some  hint  of  what  he  intended  to  do;  perhaps  if 
he  were  to  ask  him  to  see  Agnes,  just  but  once,  he  might 
agree  to  do  so,  and  then  it  is  possible  that  his  opinion  of 
her  might  be  changed.  He  would,  no  doubt,  see  in  her  a 
person  not  only  educated,  but  one  of  distinguished  talents, 
and  a  lady  in  every  respect ;  and  he  might  after  all  be  so 
favorably  impressed  with  her,  as  to  consider  it  no  discredit 
to  receive  her  as  a  daughter. 

Then  again  he  argued  delay  for  another  reason.  Would 
it  not  be  better  to  wait  until  after  his  ordination— this 
would  surely  be  within  a  year.  And  again,  Vernay,  he 
said,  might,  by  being  too  hasty  in  this  matter,  become 
blind  to  defects  of  character  and  disposition  which  might 
possibly  in  after  years  cast  a  shadow  upon  his  happiness. 
Not  that  he  could  see  the  least  blemish  himself,  not  at  all, 
but  such  a  thing  might  exist,  and,  as  a  sincere  friend,  he 
begged  of  him  to  take  time  and  give  his  noble  father  an 
opportuni:^y  of  saying  either  yes  or  no  in  a  matter  of  such 
importance. 

Upon  reflection,  Vernay  consented  to  be  advised  by  his 
friend,  and  to  apprise  his  father  of  his  intention  to  marry. 
Agnes  also,  thoughnot  too  trustful  of  her  lover's  confidant, 
thought  it  would  be  the  most  prudent  course  to  adopt; 
and  as  Vernay,  still  diffident,  could  not  approach  his 
father  on  such  a  subject,  it  was  agreed  that  Tom,  his 
friend  and  fellow-student  should,  on  his  behalf,  call  upon 
the  nobleman  and  explain  how  matters  stood.  Tom  had 
been  at  the  Hall  two  or  three  times  before  as  the  guest  of 
Vernay ;  and  now  with  a  letter  from  him  to  his  father, 
lie  made  his  prompt  appearance  at  the  family  seat  to  nego- 
tiate in  this  delicate  matter.  He  was,  as  usual,  well  re- 
oeived,  he  delivered  his  message  with  the  most  serious 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEAafl. 

countenance,  as  if  ho  were  reluctantly  performing  a  disa- 
greeable duty  simply  to  please  a  warm  friend.  He  knew 
that  Vernay's  father  would  never  consent  that  his  son 
should  marry  such  a  person  as  Agnes :  and,  just  as  he 
expected— even  just  as  he  had  hoped— the  nobleman  was 
of  course  indignant  when  he  heard  the  story,  and  would 
have  threatened  at  once  were  it  not  for  the  artful  propo- 
sal made  by  Tom,  whose  policy  it  was  to  make  it  appear, 
that,  as  the  true  friend  of  Vernay,  ho  had  advised  him  not 
to  become  too  intimate  with  a  young  person,  who,  though 
of  fair  character,  might  be  otherwise  sufficiently  design- 
ing to  lead  him  to  believe  that  love  alone  was  her  sole 
incentive,  instead  of  perhaps— which  it  probably  was— a 
desire  for  a  connection  with  a  noble  and  wealthy  family ; 
that  in  lact  he  had  used  every  argument  in  his  power  to 
warn  his  friend  of  the  dangers  of  a  hasty  union,  but  to  no 
purpose.  He  professed  the  greatest  desire  not  only  to 
serve  his  friend,  but  to  save  a  distinguished  nobleman  the 
mortification  of  the  misalliance  of  one  of  his  family  with 
a  person  of  birth  so  very  humble.  Tom's  proposal  now 
was,  that  Vernay's  father  should  request  that  no  marriage 
of  his  son,  with  any  person  whatever,  should  take  place 
for  a  year;  and,  that  during  that  period,  Vernay  should 
travel  alone  on  the  Continent,  and  hold  no  communica- 
tion with  Agnes,  except,  it  might  be  indirectly  through 
theagency  of  his  college  friend.  Tom  assured  his  lord- 
ship that  he  thought  he  could  prevail  on  Vernay  to  con- 
s.'ut  to  this  delay ;  the  task  he  fully  admitted  would  be 
difficult,  still  he  had  strong  hopes  of  being  able  to  induce 
his  friend  to  comply  with  such  a  request.  A  year's  ccn- 
aideration  might  do  much  to  change  hastily  formed  opin- 
ions—to weaken  this  strange  attachment— and  if  at  the 
end  of  that  period  Vernay's  singular  notion  remained 
unchanged  som  3  other  plan  might  be  adopted  to  lead  him 
to  see  his  error. 

In  less  than  a  month  after  Tom's  return  from  the  Hall, 
Vernay  was  in  Switzerland;  his  parting  with  Agnes  had 
been  most  painful ;  some  terrible  foreboding  led  her  tg 


ili 


13 


lil^ 


290 


THE  nEATIIKNS  OF  TIIK  HEATH. 


imafiino  that  she  would  never  see  him  again.  Tom,  .f 
course  made  liglit  of  the  matter,  and,  after  a  time,  ven- 
tured to  trifle  about  such  very  strict  notions  of  constancy 
as  seemed  to  possess  her  mind :  and  he  gaily  assured  h(  !• 
that  the  year  would  not  seem  long  if  she  only  tried  to  min- 
gle again  in  public  assemblies.  People,  he  said,  were  anx- 
ious to  hear  her  splendid  voice  where  it  could  be  heard  to 
advantage,  and  it  was,  he  thought,  her  duty  to  cultivalo 
and  exercise  the  great  talent  she  possessed,  by  the  favor 
of  Providence,  for  the  delight  and  edilication  of  others. 
Tom,  as  a  divinity  student  could  of  course,  like  all  tho 
priestly  tribe,  interlard  his  remarlis,  mean  and  desigiuj,' 
as  they  might  be,  with  cant  and  religious  phraseology,  ami 
soon  after  he  ever  hinted  that  she  should  not  refuse  to 
appear  in  the  opera  at  London.  Vernay,  he  asserted, 
would  not  mind  it  now;  though  he  well  knew  that  his 
absent  friend  had  objected  to  have  her  make  any  engage- 
ment with  operatic  managers. 

Nearly  six  months  had  now  passed;  during  the  first 
weeks  of  his  absence  Vernay  had  sent  repeated  messages 
of  his  love,  then  they  became  less  frequent,  and  now  for 
over  a  month  nothing  whatever  had  been  heard  from  tlio 
wanderer.  Agues  impressed  to  some  extent  by  the  cun- 
ning assertions  of  Tom  as  to  the  readiness  of  some  im- 
pulsive persons  to  forget  absent  friends,  began  to  have  a 
suspicion  that  Vernay's  professions  of  attachment  might 
have  been  but  impulsive  utterances,  and  that  in  his  travels 
he  had  probably  met  with  some  handsome  highborn  lady 
to  whom  he  was  paying  serious  attentions,  while  she  her- 
self was  in  a  manner  neglected. 

Tom  was  of  course  too  cautious  to  impute  in  plain  words 
that  his  friend  could  readily  grow  indifferent,  but  inuen- 
does  to  that  effect  were  not  wanting,  and  Agnes  still  urge^i 
by  his  plausible  reasoning,  and  partly  through  a  feeling 
of  resentment  at  the  continued  silence  and  probable  dis- 
affection of  Vernay,  consented  to  ttppear  in  London  as  a 
principal  singer  in  a  certain  popular  opera.  She  did 
appear,  and  the  applause  which  followed  was  most  enthu- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


291 


slastic.  Her  success  was  so  grout,  and  so  elated  did  she 
feel  that  she  could  not  resist  the  pleading  of  interested 
managers  to  appear  again  and  again.  The  press  teemed 
with  extravagant  comments,  and  musical  critics  felt 
ulmost  at  a  loss  for  words  to  do  justice  to  her  voice,  as  well 
us  to  her  attractive  appearance  on  the  stage. 

It  was  not  long  before  Vernay  was  apprised  of  what 
Agnes  had  been  doing  in  his  absence.  Copies  oi  the  Lon- 
don papers  had  been  forwarded  to  him  in  which  her  name 
as  the  great  operatic  debutante  had  been  mentioned ;  and 
liints  had  already  been  sent  him  of  how  readily  the  fair 
Agnes  could  forget  her  absent  friends  while  thunders  of 
applause  were  nightly  saluting  her  ears,  and  the  compli- 
ments of  even  princes  were  delivered  to  her  in  perfumed 
notes  by  footmen  in  gorgeous  livery. 

More  than  ten  months  of  the  probationary  year  had 
already  expired.  Vernay  hud  been  as  faithful  us  man 
could  be,  but  when  assured,  even  though  in  the  cautious 
ambiguous  language  of  his  supposed  friend,  that  the  con- 
stancy of  no  woman  could  be  relied  on,  his  anguish  was 
groat,  and  the  depression  that  followed  scarcely  left  life 
bearable.  He  would  have  returned  at  once  to  reproach 
Agnes  for  her  presumed  deceit  and  ingratitude,  but  his 
pride  forbade  him.  He  was  soon  noticed  to  have  be- 
come gloomy  and  reticent,  to  wander  away  alone,  and  to 
remain  restless  and  feverish  during  the  long  nights  in  the 
foreign  hotel,  with  none  able  to  whisper  one  word  that 
could  restore  confidence. 

About  this  time  Agnes  had  another  great  triumph ;  a 
Inmdred  fragrant  bouquets  were  thrown  around  her  feet, 
and  garlands  and  coronals  of  roses  were  flung  to  her  in 
profusion;  the  assumed  name  of  the  'Queen  of  Song '  was 
upon  every  tongue,  and  the  papers  were  again  lavish  with 
1  he  praises  of  the  beautiful  cantatrice,  yet  even  during  all 
this  elation,  the  heart  of  Agnes  was  true,  and  though  she 
thought  she  had  been  treated  with  neglect,  her  true 
love  never  once  faltered  for  Vernay ;  he  had  been  in  her 
thoughts  continually.    She  wished  to  win  fame  more  on 


t\<'H  tml 


I  ' 


■'  !tl 


W 


w 


1,^1 


292 


THE  HEATH  EMS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


his  account  than  on  her  own,  and  she  8truj,'gled  to  boliovi^ 
that  aHior  all  he  would  not  have  reason  to  reproach  Iuh- 
for  the  course  she  pursued  when  the  year  which  was  now 
nearly  completed  had  brought  his  return. 

Yet  another,  and  still  another  great  musical  triumph 
followed,  and  one  of  the  papers  which  recorded  the  addi- 
tional brilliant  ovations  which  she  had  received— she  loved 
to  read  these  in  her  secluded  moments— had  also  a  start- 
ling item  of  foreign  intelligence.  An  English  traveler, 
named  Vernay,  the  son  of  a  distinguished  nobleman,  had 
recklessly  left  his  guide  while  ascending  the  dangerous 
heights  of  Mont  Blanc,  and  had  fallen  from  one  of  tlio 
precipitous  icy  crags  into  an  abyss,  out  of  which  his  body 
would  not  probably  ever  be  recovered. 

Were  that  icy  mountain  to  burst  asunder  and  reveal  the 
frozen  and  mutilated  victims,  and  the  heaps  of  undecayed 
dead  that  had  lain  for  long  years— perhaps  for  centuries— 
uncofiQned  in  its  avalanches,  scattered  about  in  tho 
gloomy  depths  of  its  snow  drifts,  the  startled  beholder, 
though  of  the  stoutest  heart,  would  be  horrified  at  the  ap- 
palling sight ;  and  soon  as  Agnes  had  looked  upon  the  ter- 
rible words — the  last  she  ever  read— that  woeful  scene  must 
have  appeared  before  her,  for  with  one  wild  scream  reason 
took  its  flight  and  left  her  to  mutter  her  melancholy  com- 
plaints to  trees  and  shadows,  to  hum  her  pitiful  song  by 
the  running  brook,  to  wail  to  the  night  wind,  and  to  wan- 
der a  maniac  forever. 


...  f! 


Hi  i.i 


CHAPTER    XXVII. 


THE  STORT  OF  AGNES. 


rt 


••A  LAS!'*  continued  Zingari,  after  a  sad  pause,  "  what 
-^^  a  trial  I  had  after  this.  I  was,  of  course,  sent  for 
immediately.  Oh  1  what  a  sorrowful  picture  to  see  that  once 
beautiful  girl,  my  grand-daughter,  in  whom  we  all  took 
such  pride,  now  with  disheveled  hair  and  eyes  of  sadness, 
sit  by  the  hour  alone  gazing  silently  and  vacantly  afar,  and 
muttering  her  pitiful  incoherences.  The  Winter  season 
was  in  its  depth,  the  days  were  gloomy,  and  it  was  melpn- 
choly  to  see  her  pick  up  some  scattered  sear  and  yellow 
leaf,  and  look  at  it,  and  hold  it  out,  as  if  desirous  of  pre- 
senting a  type  of  her  own  withered  hopes.  But  another 
calamity  was  soon  to  happen.  My  daughtex%  who  had 
lately  been  in  delicate  health,  had  received  such  a  shock 
by  the  affliction  of  poor  Agnes,  that  her  symptoms  sud- 
denly became  dangerous,  and  though  she  had  the  most 
skilful  treatment  possible  to  secure,  she  died  within  a 
week  after  my  arrival  at  her  house ;  and  with  her  last 
breath  she  left  Agnes  to  my  sole  care  and  protection.  I 
felt  at  the  time  as  if  I  must  sink  under  the  accumulation 
of  troubles,  but  I  nerved  myself  for  the  sad  duties  before 
me,  and  possessing  a  vigorous  constitution,  I  was  enabled, 
after  severe  exertion,  to  overcome  difficulties  which  might 
have  sent  another,  at  my  time  of  life,  to  the  grave. 

There  was  nothing  now  left  for  me  but  to  take  sole 
charge  of  Agnes ;  she  had  no  other  near  relative  who  could 
care  for  her  as  I  would.    She  was  most  fortunately  very 


ill 


i      i : 


294 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


.i' 


quiet  and  submissive ;  more  like  a  delicate  child,  than  a 
grown  woman.  I  never  saw  her  any  way  agitated,  except 
when  Vernay's  deceitful  friend  made  his  appearance.  He 
came  to  see  her  two  or  three  times  after  her  affliction,  and 
she  at  once  became  frightened  and  tried  to  escape  from 
his  presence.  It  seemed  to  have  some  effect  on  him, 
though  he  tried  to  be  sympathetic,  and  to  appear  at  hia 
ease;  if  ht  3poke  to  her,  she  would  not  reply,  but  would 
hide  her  face,  or  run  to  me  like  a  child  afraid  of  danger. 

It  was  then  I  somehow  became  impressed  to  say  some- 
thing to  him ;  and  I  s^oke  as  the  words  came.  The  last 
time  he  called  at  the  house,  I  remember  telling  him  that 
he  was,  in  my  opinion,  guilty  of  some  act  of  treachery  or 
dev^option,  for  which  he  might  yet  have  to  answer,  and 
that  the  misfortune  which  had  befallen  Agnes,  was  in  some 
way  attributable  to  him ;  how,  or  why,  I  could  not  as  yet 
tell,  but  it  would  possibly  be  revealed  some  time.  I  no- 
ticed that  what  I  said  had  a  peculiar  effect;  guilt  w.is 
apparent,  though  he  looked  reproacLfully  at  me,  he  made 
no  reply,  but  soon  as  my  eye  caught  his  would-be-scornful 
look,  there  was  something  in  my  steady  gaze  that  must 
have  intimidated  him,  for  he  at  once  appeared  disconcert- 
ed, and  took  his  departure. 

Away  upon  the  bleak  Heath,  among  our  own  gypsy 
friends,  pnd  surrounded  by  an  impoverished  people,  poor 
Agnes  dwelt  with  us,  shut  out  from  the  great  world  of 
which  she  had  but  lately  been  such  an  ornament.  None 
could  care  for  her  more  than  we  did ;  none  could  pity  her 
more  than  the  toil-worn  people  of  the  plain. 

She  would  sing  at  times  one  of  her  wild,  melancholy 
strains,  and  every  eye  would  be  dim ;  she  would  tell  some 
sad,  simple  story  to  the  children  that  always  liked  to  bo 
near  her,  and  even  they  would  turn  aside  to  weep.  What 
she  said,  or  what  she  did,  her  most  trivial  acts,  were  sug- 
gestive of  something  sorrowful,  and  generally  affected 
others  to  tears,  though  the  favor  of  tears  was  denied  to 
herself,  leaving  her  woe  as  it  were  as  cold  and  as  indurat- 
ed as  an  icicle. 


than  a 
,  except 
ce.  He 
on,  an<l 
)e  from 
jn  him, 
,r  at  hia 
t  would 
mgor. 
,y  some- 
Ehe  last 
im  that 
3hery  or 
ver,  and 
in  some 
t  as  yet 
I.  I  no- 
uilt  was 
le  made 
scornful 
at  must 
concert- 

Q  gypsy 
)le,  1)001- 
vorld  of 
Nono 
pity  her 

ancholy 
ell  somo 
;ed  to  be 
.  What 
ere  sug- 
affected 
enied  to 
indurat- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

Some  months  had  now  passed  since  the  death  of  her 
mother ;  the  poor  afflicted  girl  gave  us  but  little  trouble, 
she  was  still  childlike  and  humble,  still  submissive  to  my 
slightest  wish,  yet  it  was  evident  to  all  that  she  was  fading 
away,  and  that  her  malady  had  no  remedy  but  death. 
Strange  to  say  I  had,  so  far,  never  heard  her  mention  the 
name  of  Vernay,  though  we  all  felt  that  the  sudden  news 
of  his  unexpected  end  must  have  been  the  true  cause  of 
her  sad  condition ;  and  still  more  strange  was  the  report 
that  Vernay's  father  had  never  expressed  the  least  regret 
that  his  son  had  been  so  hurriedly  sent  to  eternity.  It  had 
been  stated  that  the  noble  lord  had  expressed  himself 
more  willing  to  lose  his  son  by  such  a  death,  than  to  lose 
him  in  the  alliance  which  rumor  had  assured  him  that 
Vernay  had  been  determined  to  form ;  he  would  rather 
have  that  son  perish  as  he  had,  than  be  obliged  to  own 
Agnes  as  a  daughter.  Alas !  how  stalking  pride  can  some- 
times overshadow  natural  affection. 

Notwithstanding  this  dreadful  loss  to  a  uoble  family, 
Yernay's  friend  Tom  was  never  once  suspected  of  having 
by  false  reports  driven  a  fellow-being  to  distraction.  The 
false  friend  was  received  at  the  Hall  with  the  greatest 
consideration,  in  fact  the  distinguished  head  of  the  house 
appeared  to  sympathize  more  with  him  in  his  presumed 
sorrow  at  the  loss  of  his  college  companion  than  Tom 
could  ever  sympathize  with  the  family  for  the  bereave- 
ment they  had  sustained ;  and  the  nobleman  himself  ex- 
pressed his  gratitude  for  the  skilful  manner  in  which  Tom 
had  prevented  a  union,  which,  his  lordship  asserted,  must 
in  the  long  run  be  fraught  with  misfortune  to  the  principal 
parties  concerned ;  and  he  assured  the  aspirant  for  divini- 
ty honors,  that  he  should  for  the  future  seek  his  advance- 
'iient  in  the  Church  almost  to  the  same  degree  he  intend- 
ed for  his  lost  son.  Tom  of  course  pretended  to  be 
altogether  unworthy  of  such  consideration;  the  part 
which  he  had  faithfully  and  conscientiously  taken  in  the 
matter  was  dictated  by  emotions  of  the  truest  friendship ; 
he  alTected  to  be  greatly  distressed  on  accoant  of  the  ea- 


C!  •  III 


I  Hi 

I I 


i  y 


296 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


am 

I'M-  ^m-i 


liifj 


lamity  that  had  happened,  and  while  he  wished  to  make 
it  appear  that  his  grief  was  most  poignant,  his  insincerity 
became  apparent  to  others  bv  his  parasitical  servility  to 
the  principal  members  of  the  bereaved  family. 

As  time  went  on  Agnes  grew  worse,  none  had  the  faint- 
est hope  that  she  would  over  recover.  Day  after  day  as  I 
went  about  with  her  I  watche^jthe  progress  of  her  disease. 
Her  wasting  form  painfully  told  of  her  certain  strides 
toward  the  grave,  and  that  no  physician  could  now  be  of 
any  avail.  In  her  demented  state  she  had  some  affecting 
peculiarities.  She  would  scarcely  pass  a  flower— even  the 
most  humble— met  in  her  pathway,  without  stopping  to 
address  it  a  few  words,  as  if  the  poor  flower  alone  could 
understand  her  appeal,  or  remedy  her  pitiful  condition. 
If  she  saw  a  stream  in  her  wanderings,  she  would  sit  and 
listen  to  its  murmurings,  and  throw  a  leaf  or  a  bud  into 
its  little  eddies,  and  while  she  watched  it  coursing  on  the 
current  and  passing  away  forever,  she  would  softly  sing 
some  plaintive  air,  as  if  warbling  an  adieu  to  happiness. 
And  then  again  on  clear  calm  evenings  she  would  take 
my  hand  and  lead  me  to  the  nearest  hill  to  watch  the  set- 
ting sun,  and  as  the  great  orb  of  day  disappeared  in  its 
halo  of  glory,  she  would  hum  some  touching  anthem,  and 
the  faint  sounds  of  her  voice  at  such  times  might  be  liken- 
ed by  many  to  the  echo  of  the  farewell  of  some  departing 
angel  of  the  blest. 

One  day  I  let  her  wander  off  alone,  I  had  often  done  so 
before,  some  of  our  people  were  usually  near  her  places  of 
resort,  and  she  generally  returned  in  a  short  time.  A  few 
little  children  followed  her ;  they  seemed  to  take  a  strange 
pleasure  in  being  with  one  so  kind  and  gentle.  She  had 
not,  however,  been  gone  more  than  an  hour  before  I  was 
surprised  at  her  hasty  return.  She  rushed  into  my  arms, 
panting  and  almost  breathless,  her  eyes  had  a  wild  fright- 
ened appearance,  and  she  trembled  like  one  dreadfully 
terrified.  The  cause  was  soon  apparent.  I  spoke  some 
soothing  words,  and  in  a  little  time  laid  her  down,  and 
then  stole  out  to  try  and  find  out  what  caused  her  such 


one  so 
aces  of 
A  few 
trange 
16  had 
I  was 
arms, 
fright- 
dfully 
some 
n,  and 
r  such 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


297 


agitation.  I  myself  was  somewhat  startled  by  the  unex- 
pected appearance  of  one  whom  I  then  considered  among 
the  vilest  of  mankind.  Under  an  oak  tree,  within  twenty 
feet  of  me,  stood  Vernay's  deceitful  friend.  He  must  have 
sought  an  opportunity  of  coming  stealthily  to  the  Heath, 
for  though  he  might  have  been  personally  unknown  to 
many,  an  evil  report  was  attached  to  his  name,  and  it  was 
not  always  safe  for  such  as  he  to  be  seen  where  he  now 
was  by  broad  daylight.  He  seemed  to  become  uneasy 
when  he  found  I  had  recognized  him ;  he  might  have,  per- 
haps, been  informed  that  I  was  absent,  and  he  had  taken 
the  opportunity  of  trying  to  discover  A.gnes,  or  learn  some- 
thing of  her  condition.  He  would,  no  doubt,  have  done 
much  to  get  her  restored,  provided  there  was  a  hope  of  ever 
being  able  to  win  her  esteem.  When  he  saw  me  approach 
him,  he  attempted  to  get  away,  but  I  told  him  to  remain  and 
hear  what  I  had  to  say,  it  would  be  his  safer  course ;  that 
were  I  but  to  discover  him  to  certain  parties  in  the  Heath, 
he  might  be  then  and  there  torn  to  pieces.  He  remained, 
and  I  went  close  to  where  he  was  standing.  I  then  took 
from  my  bosom  a  letter  which  had  been  forwarded  to  the 
address  of  Agnes  by  some  unknown  person,  who  could  not 
have  been  aware  of  her  misfortune.  It  was  one  of  Tom's 
deceitful  letters  to  Vernay,  and  probably  taken  from 
among  his  papers  after  his  woeful  death.  I  showed  it  to 
the  cowering  wretch  before  me,  and  told  him  that  I  had 
now  full  evidence  of  his  guilt,  of  his  damning  treachery 
towards  two  unsuspecting  persons.  He  was  scarcely  able 
to  make  a  reply.  It  must  have  been,  he  said,  a  mistake. 
*  Then  read  for  yourself,'  I  said,  'that  is  your  vile  signa- 
ture, a  signature  which  I  have  taken  the  trouble  of  prov- 
ing to  be  genuine.*  He  was  in  a  manner  amazed  at  the 
undoubted  evidence  of  his  infamy  thus  presented.  I  gave 
him  no  clue  as  to  how  the  letter  had  come  into  my  posses- 
sion, and  one  would  think  by  his  guilty  look,  and  his 
astonished  gaze,  that  he  almost  imagined  me  to  be  more 
than  human  thus  to  be  able  to  hand  him  on  the  wild  Heath 
the  very  letter  he  had  written  months  before  to  Vernay. 


H:M>» 


t     : 


11 


If 


298 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


■•I 


ill 

i  •}'  I, 


rW ' 


The  letter  stated  that,  according  to  report,  Agnes  was 
spending?  most  of  her  time  among  the  gay  and  fashionable 
in  Loudon;  that  operatic  managers  were  in  fact  deitiG3 
she  almost  worshiped,  and  that  the  adulation  which  she 
received  from  certain  high  born  personages  was  quite  suf- 
ficient to  make  her  forget  her  older  friends,  who,  it  was 
evident,  had  now  but  an  occasional  place  in  her  memory. 
That,  from  what  he  had  heard,  she  would  shortly  leave 
London  for  Paris  or  New  York  with  some  celebrated 
artistes  on  an  extensive  engagement,  and  the  letter,  after 
much  more  in  the  same  terms,  recommended  Vernay  not 
to  allow  his  mind  to  dwell  for  the  future  on  any  one  par- 
ticular person,  unless  it  might  be  one  who  could  remem- 
ber him  with  an  affectionate  constancy  and  regard  in  his 
absence. 

This  was,  perhaps,  the  strongest  letter  that  Vernay  had 
received  from  his  deceitful  friend;  and  it  might  have 
been  the  very  one  that  had  brought  despair  and  urged 
self-destruction.  Fortunately  poor  Agnes  was  sa^ed  the 
agony  of  ever  reading  this  infamous  epistle;  her  fate 
had  been,  I  may  say,  irrevocably  settled  long  before 
that  letter  had  reached  my  hands. 

After  I  had  satisfied  the  wretch  before  me,  that  I  was 
fully  informed  of  his  treachery,  I  said  to  him :  *  Go  from 
this  place,  and  never  dare  to  return,  if  you  come  back,  it 
will  be  to  hear  me  pronounce  your  doom.  Go,  whether 
you  rise  to  affluence  and  distinction,  or  sink  to  disgrace, 
you  will  never  find  one  to  love  you  truly;  you  shall  find 
no  consolation  in  your  greatest  affliction,  your  last  mo- 
ments shall  be  without  hope,  and  your  future  shall  seeiri 
to  be  but  blackness  and  despair.  I  have  met  him  but  once 
since  that  time ;  he  came  here  not  long  ago  on  a  holiday 
missionary  excursion ;  he  came  quite  forgetful  that  he  liad 
ever  seen  me,  or  perhaps  that  he  had  been  ever  hero  be- 
fore ;  he  came  here  with  his  spiritual  authority  as  Thomas 
Sumpter,  Lord  Bishop  of  Storkchester,  the  bishop  of  this 
very  diocese,  accompanied  by  some  who  might  be  called 
bis  clerical  hawks  and  ravens,  to  convert  us  gypsiea.    I 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


299 


gave  him  his  answer,  and  unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken, 
he  will  never  come  here  again,  nor  will  he,  I  thinlf ,  forget 
what  took  place  between  us  on  that  occasion. 

You  seem  very  much  surprised  at  what  I  tell  you,  but  it 
is  the  truth.  Thomas  Sumpter,  poor  Vernay's  fellow- 
student,  was,  as  I  have  said  before,  a  most  obsequious 
person,  at  once  fawning  and  deceitful,  he  won  his  way  to 
wealth  and  distinction  by  the  most  contemptible  efforts, 
and  though  he  may  be  looked  upon  with  veneration  by 
some  poor  dupes,  who  have  been  taught  to  regard  the 
priestly  order  or  caste  with  a  kind  of  awe,  thinking  men, 
and  the  many  who  cannot  afford  to  speak  out,  will  regard 
him,  and  such  as  he  is,  with  scorn  and  utter  contempt. 

Thomas  Sumpter  would  have  used  any  means,  even  the 
most  despicable,  to  gain  the  object  of  his  ambition ;  he 
feigned  humility,  and  little  by  little,  as  a  parasite,  he 
made  an  advance.  After  his  ordination,  he  was  presented 
to  a  living  by  Vernay's  father,  and  not  long  afterward  he 
became  a  rector.  As  he  was  very  intimate  with  the  noble- 
man's family,  in  course  of  time  he  professed  to  have 
formed  an  attachment  for  one  of  his  lordship's  nieces— his 
sister's  daughter.  The  nobility  have  sometimes  what  may 
be  called  poor  relations ;  and  as  his  lordship's  sister  had 
been  left  a  widow,  with  several  daughters,  and  a  rather 
scanty  income,  Thomas  Sumpter,  being  high  in  his  lord- 
ship's favor,  and  having  good  prospects  before  him,  was 
quiie  safe  in  making  a  proposal.  His  marriage  followed, 
and  if  his  wedded  life  has  not  been  the  most  happy— for  his 
wife  cares  but  little  for  him— the  alliance  which  he  formed 
brought  him  sufBcient  influence  to  secure  his  elevation  to 
a  bishopric;  and  this  is  how  he  became  what  is  foolishly 
called,  *  the  right  reverend  Father  in  God  of  this  diocese.' 

The  shock  or  fright  which  poor  Agnes  received  from 
the  sudden  appearance  of  this  wretch,  was  pvoduetive  of 
the  most  disastrous  ellects.  For  the  remainder  of  the  day 
she  would  try  to  hide  herself  in  any  corner,  where  she 
fancied  she  could  be  secure  from  the  observation  of  any 
one  save  mysfclf ;  before  night  she  began  to  throw  up 


•**•?'! 


mi,  iWj 


\  i^ 


M!  i] 


i 

k 


■  v.',' 


soo 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


blood,  her  symptoms  became  alarming,  and  as  we  had  no 
doctor  near  us,  I  had  to  use  such  remedies  as  I  could  pro- 
vide myself.  The  next  day  she  seemed  like  one  dead. 
Our  people,  and  our  poor  friends  on  the  Heath,  seemed  to 
vie  with  one  another  in  their  humble  endeavors  to  help 
the  dying  girl,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Poor  thing,  as  she 
lay  with  pallid  cheek,  looking  out  wistfully  at  the  Spring 
flowers,  or  upward  at  some  bright  cloud  moving  across 
the  blue  sky,  one  could  see  that  the  finger  of  death  had 
already  touched  her  brow,  and  thaL  she  was  gazing  for  the 
last  time  upon  those  beautiful  objects  of  nature,  in  which 
she  ever  took  such  delight.  Presently  the  rich  notes  of 
the  thrush  would  reach  her  ear,  and  she  would  attempt 
to  rise,  as  if  to  respond  with  her  voice  of  other  days ;  but, 
alas !  every  feeble  effort  only  proved  that  she  should  sing 
no  more,  not  even  the  simplest  plaintive  air,  and  that  she 
must  soon  leave  us  forever.  As  the  day  declined,  she 
seemed  to  gaze  with  melancholy  interest  upon  the  glori- 
ous sunset,  and  as  she  watched  the  red  rays  lingering  in 
the  west,  I  could  see  that  her  e/es  were  filled  with  tears. 
Soon  I  saw  her  lips  moving,  and  I  stooped  down  close  to 
catch  her  words.  In  the  faintest  whisper  she  said :  *Dear 
grandma,  the  shadow  is  gone.*  O  how  thankful  I  felt  at 
that  moment.  Poor  child,  the  shadow  was  gone,  but  her 
mind  was  only  restored  as  if  to  permit  the  recognition  of 
her  friends  once  more,  and  to  bid  us  all  a  long  adieu.  Now 
she  seemed  to  listen;  the  silence  around  her  was  deep, 
not  even  the  soft  evening  air  would  give  its  gentlest  mur- 
mur. Again  she  whispered :  *  Grandma,  can  you  not  hear 
his  voice?  He  calls  me— hear  him— yes,  grandma,  he 
calls.'  She  gave  my  hand  a  feeble  pressure,  it  was  all  she 
could  do,  her  eyes  brightened  up,  a  beautiful  smile  rested 
upon  her  features.  *  I  am  coming,  Vernay,  I  am  coming,' 
and  while  the  ruddy  glow  was  still  in  the  heavens,  she  pass- 
ed away,  and  we  stood  around  in  tears,  and  in  the  presence 
of  death,  when  the  evening  star  appeared,  as  if  to  sig- 
nalize the  advent  of  another  pure  spirit  among  the  blest. 
This,"  resumed  Zingari,  after  a  pause,  "is  the  sad 


(( 


mH' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


30i 


history  of  poor  Agnes.  Can  you  blame  me  for  attributing 
her  misfortunes  to  the  treachery  of  Thomas  Sumpter, 
your  bishop  ?  and  can  you  blame  me  for  considering  him] 
and  such  as  he  is,  as  being  nothing  better  than  consecrat- 
ed impostors,  who  deceive  and  plunder  the  people  of  the 
nation?  Aha!  let  him  enjoy  his  ill-gotten  gains;  his  day 
of  reckoning  must  come  before  long. 

Since  that  affliction,  I  have  lived  on  the  Heath,  striving 
to  benefit,  in  my  own  T>oor  way,  the  unfortunate  people 
who,  in  a  manner,  have  afforded  us  protection.  You  know 
to  some  extent,  what  their  hardships  have  been ;  but  you 
do  not  know  all,  and  you  know  how  utterly  it  has  been 
out  of  our  power  to  render  them  much  assistance. 

You  have  also  heaid  of  the  happy  change  that  has  taken 
place ;  one  truly  benevolent  man  has  already  done  more, 
in  a  few  months,  to  humanize  and  elevate  them,  than  all 
the  priests  or  missionaries  that  ever  came  with  prayers  or 
tracts  could  do  in  a  century.  They  have  not  been  Chris- 
tianized, but  they  have  received  a  change  of  heart  more 
miraculous  than  I  think  Christianity,  or  what  I  have  seen 
of  it,  could  ever  bring  them ;  a  change  neither  sudden, 
fitful,  nor  spurious,  like  that  transient  impulse  resulting 
from  religious  excitement,  but  one  gradual,  and  benefi- 
cent, that  is  more  likely  to  endure.  I  have  been  called  a 
fortune-teller,  and  your  sordid  priests  have  accused  me 
of  obtaining  money— as  they  do  themselves— by  the  pre- 
tense of  superior  knowledge— by  an  atom  of  truth  and  a 
mountain  of  fraud.  It  would  be  well  for  thousands  were 
your  assuming  clergy  as  innocent  of  deceit  as  I  am.  To 
those  who  came  to  consult  with  me,  I  generally  gave  my 
best  advice.  I  did  not,  as  a  matter  of  form,  deal  in  magic 
or  in  mystery,  or  resort  to  anything  like  your  religious 
incantations ;  I  did  not  always  tell  them  that  they  would 
travel  to  far  countries  and  obtain  great  riches,  or  that 
they  should  be  loved  by  princes  or  princesses,  or  be  mar- 
ried to  the  wealthy  and  the  beautiful.  I  generally  told 
them  that  by  temperance,  industry  and  perseverance,  they 
might  count  on  success,  and  that  with   these  virtues, 


i 


-lifi 


•  ;!  'i 


4 


if   1 


302 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


iT;«^ 


m^ 


whether  on  land  or  on  sea,  they  had  the  best  chance  of 
becomiog  prosperous  or  wealthy.  I  varied  my  advice  ac- 
cording to  circumstances,  and  any  fee  bestowed  on  me  for 
such  fortune-telling  was  generally  given  to  one  or  another 
of  the  destitute  people  around  me.  You  have  perhaps 
heard  that  I  did  more  at  times  than  such  fortune-telling 
as  I  have  related ;  I  may  have  done  so.  In  the  presence 
of  some  I  leel  impressed  to  speak  of  future  events;  I 
speak  what  I  feel  at  the  moment,  indifferent  as  to  the 
issue,  and  I  have  been  told  that  my  predictions  have  often 
been  most  singularly  fulfilled.  I  know  not  why  I  become 
so  influenced  but  nevertheless  it  is  a  fact ;  yet  I  make  no 
pretension  to  supernatural  power,  if  it  be  such.  You  I 
know  doubt  this  power ;  you  look  incredulous.  You  are  a 
believer  in  a  future  state— an  existence  after  death— yet 
what  actual  evidence  have  you  for  such  a  notion  beyond 
hearsay,  or  that  which  you  think  has  been  revealed  in  the 
Christian  scriptures,  and  know  you  not  ho^/  incorrect 
these  have  been  already  proved  ?  You  believe  that  your 
Bible  is  an  inspired  book,  and  that  its  record— myths  and 
miracles— is  true.  You  believe  in  its  magicians  and  in  its 
witches,  in  its  ghosts  and  in  its  demons,  in  its  dreams  and 
in  its  visions,  in  its  morose  priests  and  in  its  frantic  proph- 
ets, and  in  the  pious  savages  and  licentious  favorites  of 
the  Deity.  O  what  a  progeny  of  absurdities  is  generated 
by  an  unreasoning  faith !  You  and  many  others  who  claim 
to  be  guided  by  common  sense,  believe  almost  without 
hesitation  the  most  foolish  stories,  provided  they  can  be 
taken  from  your  *  Book  of  Books  '—your  paper  idol.  You 
believe  that  certain  devils  which  had  been  cast  out  of  two 
exceedingly  fierce  persons,  besought  Christ  to  let  them 
enter  a  herd  of  swine,  and  that  when  the  pigs  became  pos- 
sessed, they  ran  violently  down  a  steep  place  into  the  sea 
and  periahed  in  the  waters;  you  believe  in  ridiculous 
miracles,  and  in  monstrous  doctrines ;  you  believe  that  the 
witch  of  Endor  raised  Samuel  from  the  tomb,  and  that 
the  dead  rose  from  their  graves  and  walked  about  at  the 
the  time  of  the  crucifixion ;  you  believe  that  a  benevo- 


THE  HEATHENS  07  THE  HEATH. 


803 


lent  Deity  will  be  obliged  to  damn  over  three-fourths  of 
the  human  race  because  of  their  opposition  to  his  arbitra- 
ry will,  or  their  inability  to  comply  with  his  law  as  laid 
down  in  your  great  book ;  and  you  actually  believe  that 
certain   corrupt   men   such  as  Thomas   Sumpter,  your 
bishop,  are  the  true  successors  of  the  apostles,  and  divine- 
ly ordained  and  appointed  to  explain  this  law  and  guide 
other  sinners  in  the  true  road  to  heaven.    0,how  strangely 
credulous  you  Christians  can  be,  while  arrogant  as  to  the 
superiority  of  a  faith  so  irrational  and  delusive !    And  yet 
while  you  believe  ail  this,  while  you  believe  in  the  incoher- 
ences and  wild  predictions  of  your  so-called  holy  prophets, 
you  doubt  my  ability  to  reveal  anything  concerning  the 
future.    As  a  Christian  you  can  gulp  down  all  the  mar- 
velous narratives  of  your  scriptures,  and  at  the  same  time, 
even  in  this  reputed  age  of  Spiritualism,  you  can  be  as 
fanatical  in  your  doubts  as  the  most  positive  materialist. 
Such  people  you  know  talk  confidently  of  the  immutabil- 
ity of  the  laws  of  Nature,  but  when  they  see  what  is 
deemed  a  violation  of  those  laws  in  their  very  presence, 
they  still   doubt  and  pronounce  the  thing  impossible. 
Galileo  could  not  convince  the  priests  that  the  world 
moved,  he  was  even  forced  to  deny  the  theory  himself,  yet 
still  the  earth  revolved  as  before ;  and  though  materialists 
deny  that  matter  can  be  affected  by  what  is  called  spirit- 
ual agency,  yet  objects  are  still  moved  by  the  same  unex- 
plained influences,  and  still  many  of  such  skeptics  remain 
as  positive  as  ever." 

Esther  who  had  remained  silent  for  some  time,  now 
said :  "  I  have  never  seen  anything  of  the  kind,  how  can  I 
believe  without  reasonable  evidence  ?  " 

"And  still,"  replied  Zingari,  "your  credulity  in  the 
other  matters  which  I  have  mentioned,  and  upon 
which  you  have  such  doubtful  authority,  is  most  amaz- 
ing." 

"  What  of  your  strange  mirror  ?  "  said  Esther,  after  a 
little  hesitation. 

"Ah!  you  must  have  heard  your  father  speak  of  that; 


■4i 
"J 


'.(■ft 

•'•r 
■  if 

Iff' 

ft! 


mi 


if 


'»■  ! 


1 


'    i^ 


Ml 


;l    !i 
iff    :i 


'ft  ■! 


! 


ii 


!■ 


■t, 


U: 


i  fn 


304 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


you  know  as  much  of  it  in  one  sense  as  I  do.  It  was  given 
me  by  my  poor  aunt  shortly  before  her  decease ;  she  told 
me  it  had  been  in  our  family  for  generations,  and  that  I 
must  never  part  with  it— not  even  in  death.  To  me,  as 
well  as  to  others,  its  manifestations  have  been  unaccount- 
able. When  I  wish  it  to  be  used,  I  ha^  e  only  to  fix  my 
mind  intently  on  any  person,  the  living  or  the  dead, 
and  a  representative  face  generally  appears ;  sometimes 
it  fails,  or  other  features  known  or  unknown  to  myself, 
can  be  seen ;  there  are  periods  when  it  seems  to  be  of  no 
service ;  and  it  loses  its  peculiar  virtue  in  any  other  hand 
than  my  own,  and  the  cause  of  all  this  is  as  great  a  mys- 
tery to  me  as  to  any  one  else.  Look,"  continued  Zingari, 
pulling  the  little  mirror  from  her  bosom,  "  look  and  see 
if  there  is  anything  for  you." 

The  act  was  so  sudden  on  the  part  of  the  gypsy  woman, 
that  Miss  Meade  was  somewhat  startled,  and  hesitated  to 
look  at  the  dull  piece  of  metal  which  Zingari  held  toward 
her. 

"Be  not  afraid,  child,  if  you  see  ought,  it  may  be  the 
face  of  a  friend." 

Zingari  remained  silent  for  a  few  moments,  Esther  look- 
ed upon  the  mirror,  the  misty  appearance  slowly  cleared 
from  its  face,  the  moonbeams  glanced  upon  it  with  re- 
markable brightness,  and  lo,  a  face  appeared,  the  face  of  a 
stranger ;  a  genial  intelligent  face,  but  one  quite  unknown 
to  Esther. 

**  You  know  him  not,"  said  Zingari,  "but  you  will  meet 
him  soon  and  it  may  be  under  singular  circumstances." 
While  speaking  Zingari  had  her  eyes  cast  down  reflective- 
ly, and  when  she  withdrew  the  mirror  she  placed  it  again 
in  her  bosom— "Is  that  an  illusion  think  you?"  asked 
the  old  woman. 

"If  it  be  a  deception,"  replied  Esther  in  a  surprised 
tone  "it  is  a  very  remarkable  one." 

"  Then  we  shall  let  time  bring  you  proof,"  said  Zingari 
"  you  will  not  have  long  to  wait,  most  of  the  future  events 
of  your  life  may  be  in  connection  with  the  person  that  that 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


805 


picture  represents,  therefore  remember  it  well.*  Many 
of  our  greatest  scientists  and  philosophers  talk  very  flip- 
pantly about  the  properties  of  matter,  yet  they  will  scarce- 
ly admit  of  the  occurrence  of  manifestations  that  we 
witness  every  day ;  manifestations  that  we  cannot  explain 
ourselves.  So-called  savants  are  too  often  as  headstrong 
and  dogmatic  in  their  ignorant  opposition  to  this  occult 
science,  as  priests  once  were  and  sometimes  still  are,  to 
philosophical  facts.  See,  to  what  would  they  attribute 
this  power,  a  power  the  virtue  of  which  I  know  nothing?" 
Zingari  then  let  her  black  ebony  staff  fall  to  the  ground, 
she  then  held  her  hand  over  it  about  six  or  eight  inches 
from  the  handle,  and  remained  silently  in  this  position  for 
a  few  moments ;  then  slowly  raising  her  hand  one  end  of 
the  stick  gradually  followed  until  it  assumed  the  perpen- 
dicular ;  she  then  gave  her  hand  a  circular  motion  horizon- 
tally, and,  while  the  point  of  the  staff  remained  in  one 
spot,  as  on  a  pivot,  the  handle  described  a  circle  which 
was  gradually  enlarged  as  Zingari  stretched  out  her  hand, 
and,  as  the  rapidity  of  the  motion  was  increased,  a  oone- 
like  figure,  point  downward,  was  quite  apparent ;  she  then 
slowly  drew  In  her  hand  little  by  little  diminishing  the 
circle,  until  the  stick  stood  once  more  perpendicularly, 
her  hand  being  fully  more  than  a  foot  above  it ;  the  solid 
staff  was  then  allowed  to  fall,  and  Esther  raised  it  and 
handed  it  to  its  owner,  t 

"'Though  the  night  must  be  now  far  advanced,"  said 
Zingari,  "  I  shall  give  you  one  more  evidence  of  tliis  sin- 
gular power  before  we  separate."  She  then  produced  a 
small  writing  slate  about  four  inches  wide  by  six  inches 

*  Stories  relatinir  to  witches'  mirrors  are  not  uncommon— Zlngari's 
mirror  has  been  introduced  simply  as  an  embellishment. 

t  A  gentleman— not  a  Spiritualist— in  whom  I  could  confide,  in- 
formed me  that  he  saw  a  so-called  medium  cause  a  stick  to  rise  and 
swing  around  on  its  point,  in  the  manner  described  as  the  act  of 
Zingari.  He  assured  me  that  he  could  not  be  mistaken  in  what  he 
BAW.— Author. 

In  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wesley's  Journal  for  July  1761,  an  account  Is  given 
of  what  a  boy  named  Jonas  Bushington  related  he  saw  in  a  looking 
glass— The  faces  and  forms  of  absent  persons  appeared. 


\'^\ 


n  ii 


I  li 


if 


.11 ', 


ii 


ft ' 


306 


THE  HEATBEK8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


1     t. 


long  in  a  frame ;  she  told  Esther  to  rub  it  clean  and  be 
sure  that  there  was  no  writing  of  any  kind  on  it.  ¥he 
moonlight  was  sufflcienUy  bright  to  enable  her  to  do  this ; 
she  handed  Esther  a  slate  pencil  and  told  her  to  break  off 
a  little  bit.  Zingari  then  took  the  slate  and  placed  it  flat 
upon  the  smooth  level  surface  of  a  rock  close  by,  the  par- 
ticle of  pencil,  not  larger  than  a  small  grain  of  shot  was 
put  under  the  slate,  both  persons  then  put  a  hand  on  each 
side  of  the  frame  and  held  down  the  slate  so  that  nothing 
could  possibly  get  between  it  and  the  rock.  In  this  posi- 
tion they  remained  silent  for  a  little  time ;  then  a  slight 
tipping  sound  was  heard  on  the  slate,  and  immediately 
the  pencil  was  heard  as  if  being  moved  in  writing.  Esther 
in  her  doubt  and  surprise,  held  her  ear  close  to  the  slate 
and  could  not  be  mistaken  in  the  sound— it  ceased— the 
tipping  was  again  heard,  Zingari  handed  the  slate  to  Es- 
ther, and  lo !  there  was  a  communication  in  these  words : 
"  My  dear  child — I  am  often  with  you,  be  not  afraid  to  in- 
vestigate ;  truth  is  powerful  and  will  prevail.  Your  loving 
mother— Sarah. " 

Amazing  I  There  was  writing,  to  all  appearances  the 
plain  legible  hand  of  her  mother ;  of  her  mother  long  de- 
ceased. Esther  really  felt  nervous  at  the  moment  and 
looked  up  at  her  companion  for  an  explanation. 

**  You  know  as  much  about  it  child,  as  I  do ;  I  cannot  say 
who  wrote  these  words ;  you  are  I  believe  fully  satisfied 
that  no  art  of  mine  produced  them."* 

"I  am  truly  astonished,"  replied  Esther,  "I  know  you 
have  not  deceived  me,  yet  that  writing  is  most  wonderful." 


•  Having:  heard  that  Dr.  Slade.  of  New  York  could  cause  writing  to 
appear  on  a  slate  in  a  similar  way  to  that  described  as  having  been 
produced  by  Zingari,  I  went  with  a  shrewd  friend  to  the  Doctor's 
house  for  the  purpose  of  investigating.  A  slate  perfectly  clean  was 
placed  flat  on  the  table,  we  carefully  examined  the  table  itself;  we 
heard  the  sound  of  writing;  I  p4aced  my  ear  within  an  inch  of  the 
slate  and  could  not  be  mistaken  as  to  the  very  spot  from  whence  the 
sound  came. 

My  hand  alone  was  all  the  time  on  the  slate,  and  when  I  took  it  up, 
a  few  words  appeared,  the  purport  of  which  could  only  be  known  to 
myself.    This  took  place  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.— ^u- 

tliOt. 


I  ,  i; 


THE  HIATUIIN8  07  TUK  HEATH. 


807 


Esther  again  scrutinized  tlie  communication— "  Exactly 
like  my  mother's  signature;  my  father  would  pronounce 
it  iiers  at  a  glance." 

"Well  child,"  said  Zingari  taking  back  the  slate, 
**  what  you  have  just  witnessed  may  induce  you  to  admit 
that  the  knowledge  of  the  profoundest  thinkers  is  still  but 
very  limited,  and  that  there  may  be  revelations  yet  in 
store  for  mankind,  far  more  wonderful  than  those  you 
have  already  witnessed.— Now  before  I  go  let  me  tell  you 
something.  Unknown  to  yourself  you  have  given  me  much 
comfort,  often  afforded  me  delight,  while  listening  to  the 
exquisite  strains  which  many  a  night  I  have  heard  as  I 
sat  alone  by  Adrian's  grave.  Before  we  came  here  to 
night  I  heard  you  in  the  old  church,  and  your  touching 
melody— almost  mysterious  and  unearthly— brought  me 
tears,  yet  bid  me  hope  for  a  hereafter ;  for  a  reunion  with 
my  loved  ones;  and  your  presence  now  in  this  retired 
place,  seems  to  be  like  that  of  a  comforting  angel.  There 
are  others  near,  besides  yourself,  that  I  can  love  and  ad- 
mire for  their  purity  of  heart.  Strange  that  the  best  of 
our  kind  are  so  often  found  amongst  the  most  secluded, 
and  should  so  often  be  obliged  to  struggle  with  adversity, 
and  to  live,  as  it  were,  almost  a  whole  life  time  in  the 
shade.  Your  father  is  a  good  man,  kind  and  charitable— 
a  priest,  in  doubt  of  his  creed— and  his  comparatively  hum- 
ble position  has  caused  him  to  struggle  with  many  diffi- 
culties. Poor  old  Stephen  Gray,  guileless  and  as  affec- 
tionate as  a  child  has  been  but  a  simple  sexton,  ever  but 
poorly  paid,  and  is  now  after  his  long  years  of  service, 
partly  depending  on  the  charity  of  your  father  and  a  few 
others.  There  is  kind  old  Sarah  Afton,  to  whose  cot- 
tage I  have  ever  been  welcome,  living  on  the  merest  pit- 
tance; and  there  are  many  of  the  poor  people  on  the 
Heath,  with  generous  souls,  who  were  until  lately  scarcely 
able  to  obtain  sufficient  food ;  and  there  is  one  yet  of  noble 
nature  who  has  but  lately  come  among  us,  who  has  already 
done  much  good,  who  is  striving  to  do  more,  yet  whoso 
name  is  hardly  known  in  England  beyond  the  boundaries 


X 


^m 


i:   If 


!■!■ 


308 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  his  own  property.  Ought  there  not  yet  to  be  a  distin- 
guished recognition  for  such  as  these  ?  And  you  poor  girl," 
continued  Zingari  tenderly,  "you  with  your  wonderful 
ability,  you  with  your  hopes  and  fears  as  to  the  future, 
what  shall  I  say  to  you  ?"  Zingari  suddenly  paused  and 
then  slowly  placing  her  hand  upon  Esther's  head,  looked 
down  and  spoke:  "Esther,  there  is  yet  trouble  before 
you ;  in  a  short  time  you  will  have  to  encounter  danger 
and  death;  let  your  heart  not  fail  you,  in  the  darkest 
hour  you  will  find  unexpected  aid,  and  none  shall  hurt 
you."* 

Miss  Meade  was  really  startled  at  the  old  woman's 
solemn  manner,  and  at  what  was  evidently  intended  as  a 
warning  or  prediction,  she  was  going  to  speak  but  Zingari 
calmly  looked  up  at  her,  and,  while  pointing  to  the  East, 
said :  "See,  the  night  is  gone,  yonder  is  the  dawn,  let  that 
faint  light  in  the  distance  be  an  omen  for  good.  You  have 
heard  my  words ;  be  not  afraid  of  their  import.  We  sepa- 
rate now  for  a  time ;  we  may  meet  again  when  your  hopes 
are  brighter ;  there  are  happy  years  yet  before  you,  and 
your  angelic  music  will  continue  to  charm  many  when  I 
am  in  the  grave." 


nm 


*  Gazette's  prophecy  of  the  French  Revolution  Is  far  more  re- 
markable than  the  alleged  predictions  of  Zingari. 


lit. 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 


SINGULAR  REVELATIONS. 


TT  is  said  that  the  world  knows  not  its  greatest  men,  and 
-*■  no  doubt  the  adage,  like  other  wise  observations,  is 
founded  upon  the  experience  of  the  most  discriminating. 
The  greatest  heroes  are  the  philanthropists  and  the  mag- 
nanimous that  are  content  to  remaih  unknown.  Superfi- 
cial and  designing  men  are  ever  most  anxious  for  promi- 
nent positions.  It  is  not  every  one  that  attains  power  that 
is  the  most  fitted  to  exercise  authority.  It  is  not  he  that 
may  be  at  the  helm  of  State,  or  a  popular  leader,  or  in 
command  of  an  army,  that  is  always  best  qualified  for  the 
important  post.  True  genius  is  ever  modest  and  retiring ; 
the  shallow  and  conceited  are  forward  and  audacious  in 
their  pretensions.  Men  often  rise  to  the  most  eminent 
positions  by  the  practice  of  the  basest  devices ;  and  too 
often  dissimulation  and  treachery  are  the  unworthy  aids 
that  elevate  some  to  the  very  pinnacle  of  greatness. 
History  gives  overwhelming  evidence,  that  numbers  of 
demi-gods  and  heroes— -the  so-called  patriots  of  ancient 
and  modern  times— have  risen  above  the  suiface,  and 
towered  up  to  Fame,  quite  indifferent  to  the  havoc  or 
disasters  which  had  preceded,  or  must  have  followed,  their 
elevation.  Monarchs  have  reached  a  throne  only  by 
passing  over  carcasses  of  the  slain ;  and  great  command- 
ers have  been  .eager  to  rise  higher  and  higher  by  adding 
to  the  ghastly  pyramid  of  skulls  which  was  the  hideous 
pedestal  of  their  success.     In  church  and  in  state,  in 


N 

0  1  • 

:!  r 
'Ml 

#*4l 


♦•ii'lu. 


•'»'! 


I 


< 


i^M.. 


I  ■ 


■  uiii 


310 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


camp  and  in  forum,  in  the  highest  and  in  the  lowest  posi- 
tions, we  find  men  ready  to  rush  forward  to  gain  distinc- 
tion, even  though  they  should  have  to  crush  hearts,  or 
desolate  homes,  or  blast  the  reputation  of  the  most  de- 
serving. While  the  truly  noble  will  scorn  to  ascend  by 
basfci  degrees,  others  will  rise  and  climb— no  matter  how 
meanly  they  have  to  overreach,  no  matter  even  if  every 
step  in  the  ladder  of  their  ambition  has  to  be  a  crime.  It 
is  said  that  the  eagle  with  outstretched  wings  sweeps 
grandly  to  the  mountain's  top ;  yet  the  snake  will  man- 
age to  get  to  the  same  elevation  by  creeping  on  its  belly. 

While  a  hoct  of  subservient  beings  are  therefore  to  be 
found  in  every  direction  lying  prostrate  as  it  were  be- 
fore such  gods  of  clay,  of  wood,  or  of  stone  as  may  provo 
attractive  for  a  time  to  a  throng  of  fanatical  worshipers ; 
while  men  in  every  i)osition  who  claim  to  be  actuated  by 
the  noblest  desires  and  governed  by  the  purest  motives, 
can  be  seen  crowding  and  crushing  and  intriguing  for 
pre:  edence  and  for  preferment;  while  we  have  orators 
who  fear  to  speak,  scribes  who  fear  to  write,  critics  who 
fear  to  judge,  and  a  press  so  pusillanimous  as  to  dread  the 
frown  of  wealth,  the  ban  of  a  conjuring  priest,  or  the 
threat  of  a  knavish  legislator;  while  there  are  persons 
who  dare  rot  give  utterance  to  their  own  honest  convic- 
tions ;  it  is  a  relief  to  know  that  there  are  men  among  us 
whose  steadfastness  to  principle  is  a  rebuke  to  preten- 
sion, who  owe  no  allegiance  to  imposture,  who  will  place 
no  offering  upon  the  gilded  altar  of  falsehood,  but  who 
will  at  any  sacrifice  maintain  the  principles  of  truth  and 
justice. 

Among  such  are  the  truly  noble  of  mankind,  and 
among  such  could  always  be  found  John  Valiant.  No 
man  could  be  more  unobtrusive  in  manner.  He  never 
courted  the  great,  or  pandered  to  the  whims  or  prejudices 
of  the  multitude ;  he  never  sought  popularity  by  wantonly 
declaiming  against  persons  in  high  position,  or  by  attribu- 
ting exclusive  virtues  to  those  who  tilled  the  soil,  or  were 
obliged  to  vfOTk   for   their  daily  bread;  and  he  cared 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


311 


not  how  a  man  shaped  or  formed  his  gods,  whether  he 
prayed  to  a  hundred,  or  none  at  all,  provided  he  was  influ- 
enced or  governed  by  the  great  principles  of  humanity. 

Although  the  visit  of  Mr.  Valiant  to  Ireland  had  been 
unsuccessful  yet  he  had  gained  much  correct  information 
as  to  the  great  cause  of  the  rival  dissensions,  and  distur- 
bances which  existed  in  that  country.  The  Eev.  Seth 
Graham,  upon  whom  he  called  in  the  hope  of  hearing 
something  of  his  son,  he  found  as  a  man,  to  be  genial  and 
hospitable  as  most  Irishmen  are  reputed  to  be ;  but  as  a 
priest,  upon  the  subject  of  religion,  or  of  Orangeism,  he 
was  as  thoroughly  impervious  to  reason  as  a  lunatic.  No 
one  could,  however,  doubt  the  sincerity  of  this  clerical  gen- 
tleman ;  if  he  was  astray,  he  was  sincere  in  his  error ;  in 
fact  Mrc  Valiant  found  this  quality  of  sincerity  to  prevail 
among  people  of  every  creed,  among  Orange,  and  among 
Green,  even  among  those  holding  the  most  conflicting 
opinions,  in  the  Emerald  Isle. 

Upon  making  inquiries  about  his  3on,  Mr.  Graham 
could  give  him  no  information  whatever.  He  told  Mr. 
Valiant  that  he  had  evidently  been  misinformed;  he 
stated  that  a  Hindoo  lady,  one  of  his  converts  whom  he 
had  baptized,  and  whose  Christian  name  was  Sarah,  had 
requested  permission  to  accompany  him  to  Europe,  she 
had  a  little  boy,  named  Hemar,  with  her,  whom  she  called 
her  nephew,  and  who  was  another  of  his  converts ;  that 
when  ihey  landed  in  England  the  lady  had  suddenly  dis- 
appeared with  the  boy ;  and  that  although  he,  Mr  Gra- 
ham had  made  diligent  inquiries,  he  had  never  heard 
anything  reliable  concerning  either  of  them.  A  rumor, 
he  said,  had  reached  him  that  a  woman  described  to  re- 
semble Sarah  was  seen  in  conversation  with  some  strol- 
ling gypsies;  to  this  story  he  could  scarcely  give  credence. 
She  might  have  met  with  friends ;  for  a  long  time  he  had 
hoped  to  hear  from  her,  but  he  was  now  under  the  im- 
1  ression  that  she  must  have  had  some  motive  for  remain- 
ing away ;  what  that  motive  was,  he  was  unable  to  deter- 
mine. 


M  r.nm 


W 


il 


i « 


312 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


(^i 


i\  ' 


Upon  liearing  this,  it  occurred  to  Mr.  Valiant  that  the 
story  of  her  interview  with  a  band  of  wandering  gypsies 
might  be  true.  He  knew  that  there  was  a  kind  of  affinity 
between  the  gypsies  and  the  Hindoo  race,  he  had  heard 
something  of  the  short  stay  of  a  strange  gypsy  woman 
upon  the  Heath,  and  he  determined  upon  his  return  to 
England  to  make  some  inquiries  about  her  at  the  place 
where  he  expected  to  get  the  most  reliable  information. 

Befoie  he  left  Ireland  he  induced  Mr.  Graham  and  his 
wife  to  permit  the  little  Hindoo  girl  Sheva  to  return  to 
India.  The  missionary  was  now  convinced  that  she  would 
never  retain  Christian  truth,  that  the  instructions  which 
had  been  given  her  in  Christian  doctrines  had  been  a  more 
waste  of  words,  and  that  some  evil  spirit  must  be  present 
to  interfere  with  her  reception  of  divine  knowledge. 

Mr.  Valiant  did  not  attempt  to  erase  this  notion  of 
Satanic  frustration  from  the  mind  of  the  missionary;  ho 
well  knew  that  when  prayers  and  godly  efforts  had  sig- 
nally failed  in  bringing  the  heathen  under  Christian 
subjection,  it  was  an  old  refuge  among  clerical  embassa- 
dors to  lay  the  blame  squarely  upon  the  shoulders  of  that 
imaginary  being,  the  great  enemy  of  mankind,  who  it  is 
often  alleged  has  at  certain  times  and  seasons,  or  under 
certain  circumstances,  sufficient  power  to  counteract 
holy  influences,  and  to  induce  the  partially  enlightened 
pagan  to  relapse  to  his  old  superstition,  to  turn  from  the 
severe  countenance  of  the  Mosaic  God  and  to  gaze  again 
upon  the  benevolent  face  of  Christna.  It  is  recorded  that, 
"When  any  one  heareth  the  word  of  the  kingdom  and 
understandeth  it  not,  then  cometh  the  wicked  one  and 
catcheth  away  that  which  was  sown  in  his  heart."  * 

"  Those  by  the  way  side  are  they  that  hear ;  then  com- 
eth the  devil  and  taketh  away  the  word  out  of  their  hearts 
lest  they  should  believe  and  be  saved."  t 

If  the  gospel  be  so  indispensable  to  "fallen  man,"  why  i? 


*  Mat.  18:19. 
1  Luke  8:13. 


ad  sig- 


THE  HEATHEN8  OF  THE  HEATH. 


313 


it  that  millions  are  yet  unenlightened,  and  their  eternal 
happiness  or  misery  left  to  depend  upon  the  frail  and 
uncertain  efforts  of  a  few  missionaries  who  are  generally 
unacquainted  even  with  the  language  of  those  to  whom 
they  are  sent  ?  If  conversion  to  Christianity  be  necessary 
to  insure  the  salvation  of  the  human  race,  it  would  seem 
that  there  must  be  but  little  justice  or  impartiality  in  the 
contingent  and  very  tardy  mode  of  enlightment  to  which 
the  Deity  is  assumed  to  have  given  his  approval ;  for  still 
after  the  expenditures  of  vast  sums  the  progress  of  mis- 
sionary enterprises  is  at  best  but  very  doubtful,  and  in 
numerous  cases  it  must  be  adnaitted,  that  by  following  the 
example  of  Christian  people,  many,  very  many,  of  the  so- 
called  converted  pagans  are  morally  in  a  worse  condition 
than  they  were  before  they  heard  a  word  of  the  "joyful 
tidings,"  and  it  may  yet  require  some  Parsee  priest,  some 
grey  haired  Brahmin,  or  some  Buddhist  missionary,  to 
lead  them  back  to  the  purity  and  simplicity  of  life  from 
which  they  have  departed.  With  all  the  means  and  appli- 
ances at  the  disposal  of  Christian  propagandists,  judging 
by  their  progress  among  the  heathen  during  the  last  fifty 
years,  what  long  years  must  yet  pass  before  the  Bible  is 
accepted— if  ever  accepted— as  the  sole  standard  of  truth ; 
and  if  the  words  of  that  Bible  be  the  infallible  words  of 
divine  inspiration,  what  unborn  generations  must  yet  bo 
hurled  down  to  eternal  perdition  for  the  want  of  that 
spiritual  knowledge,  which  it  may  not  be  in  their  power 
to  obtain.  Oh!  what  a  sad  conclusion  must  follow  from 
aiich  orthodox  exaction ;  what  a  libel  upon  the  beniflcence 
of  a  Great  Creator  must  be  the  inevitable  teaching  of  the 
arrogant,  costly  creed  of  Christendom.* 

If  it  can  be  imagined  that  the  Almighty  can  sanction 


H 


I  i 


whyi? 


*  Many  Christian  priests  wish  to  avoid  such  an  inhuman  result 
and  try  to  explain  that  there  may  be  some  way  of  escape,  or  some 
li'Bser  condemnation  for  the  unconverted,  while  others  of  the  ordain- 
ed point  almost  exultingly  to  chapter  and  and  verse,  and  assert  that 
unless  a  man  repent  and  be  baptized,  unloss  he  be  born  again,  unless 
ho  believe  in  Christ,  there  can  be  no  salvation :  and  nothing  for  him 
buL  "  the  lake  whioh  burneth  with  fire  and  brimstone  "    This  must 


14 


314 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


i«f-i»l*  ^ 


the  perpetual  torture  of  even  two-thirds  of  the  intelligent 
beings  whom  He  is  said  to  have  created,  because  unfortu- 
nately they  do  not  happen  to  have  been  made  acquainted 
with  His  rigorous  laws,  and  with  the  peculiar  mode  of  sal- 
ration  which  it  is  said  He  has  prepared  for  the  very  few 
that  may  escape,  it  may  bo  also  inferred  from  that  whieh 
we  read,  in  what  true  Christians  accept  as  the  pages  of 
inspiration,  that,  though  His  invitation  and  His  promise 
is  "  unto  all,*'  yet  for  some  inscrutable  purpose  He  is  will- 
ing that  many  through  ignorance  should  be  lost;  and 
even  aids  to  ensure  their  destruction.  In  those  very  pages 
it  is  written :  "  He  hath  blinded  their  eyes  and  hardened 
their  heart,  that  they  should  not  see  with  their  eyes,  nor 
understand  with  their  heart,  and  be  converted,  and  I 
should  heal  them."*  "  For  this  cause  God  shall  send  them 
strong  delusion,  that  they  should  believe  a  lie. "f  Even 
the  same  inspired  record  might  lead  us  to  suppose  that  if 
Satan  is  permitted  at  certain  seasons  to  exercise  his  wiclc- 
ed  control,  the  power  of  theAlF7iighty  issometimes  limited 
and  that  he  is  not  always  omnipotent ;  as  an  evidence  of 
this  we  read;  "And  the  Lord  was  with  Judah,  and  He 
drave  out  the  inhabitants  of  the  mountain,  but  could  not 
drive  out  the  inhabitants  of  the  valley,  because  they  had 
chariots  of  iron. "J 

The  power  ef  the  apostles  was  also  uncertain ;  thougli 
they  were  told  that,  "all  things  are  possible  to  him  tlitit 
believeth,"  and  that  by  faith  they  should  be  able  to  per- 
form miracles,  yet  they  had  reason  to  think  that  failli 
alone  was  not  always  sufficient  to  do  that  which  they  de- 
sired. When  after  a  trial  of  their  power  they  failed  to 
eject  a  certain  "dumb  spirit,"  upon  inquiry  as  to  why 
they  "could  not  cast  him  out,"  they  were  informed  by 

be  the  prevailing  opinion  of  those  who  best  understand  the  Christian 
scriptures,  else  why  should  appeals  so  pathetic  be  made  at  misson- 
ary  meetings  for  the  "perishing  heathen." 

♦John  12:40, 

tThes.  2:11. 

t  Judg.l:19. 


"»  '•.   i; 


!i!' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


315 


their  Master  that,  "  This  kind  can  come  forth  by  nothing 
but  by  prayer  and  fasting."*  It  is,  however,  an  unquest- 
ionable fact,  that  there  are  certain  missionaries,  like  Seth 
Graham,  who  are  thoroughly  satisfied  that  when  they  fail 
to  convert  or  to  reform  by  the  usual  orthodox  course,  Satan 
must  be  in  some  way  the  obstructing  cause ;  and  as  Mr. 
Graham  was  strongly  of  this  opinion,  he  was  energetic  in 
expressing  his  belief  that  the  "Devil  as  a  roaring  lion 
walketh  about  seeking  whom  he  may  devour,"  that  he 
had  already  devoured  a  good  many,  and  would  yet  make 
away  with  Sarah  and  Hemar,  his  apostate  runaways,  and 
would  most  probably  disappear  in  sulphurous  flames  with 
little  Sheva  herself. 

As  has  been  noticed,  that  poor  child  knew  Mr.  Vt\liant 
at  the  first  glance  upon  the  day  of  his  arrival  at  the  mis- 
sionary's house.  She  had  often  seen  him  in  Bombay,  and 
had  heard  of  his  goodness,  and  young  as  she  was,  she  had 
sufficient  confidence  to  make  her  appeal  to  him  to  be 
restored  to  her  paients.  Mr.  Va.iant  pitied  her  forlorn 
condition,  he  spoke  words  of  kindness  to  her  in  her  native 
tongue,  she  wept  when  she  heard  his  soothing  voice,  for 
she  felt  that  the  hour  of  her  deliverance  had  come ;  and 
to  make  sure  he  went  at  once  and  paid  her  passage  to 
Bombay,  and  placed  her  in  charge  of  a  friend  on  board  a 
vessel  bound  for  India. 

Upon  his  return  to  the  Heath  he  was  greatly  pleased  to 
find  that  the  people  whom  he  had  trusted,  and  whom  he 
wishedto  serve,  had  steadily  advanced  during  his  absence. 
The  labor  which  wins  a  fair  reward  was  producing  a  sure 
reformation  among  those  who  once  fancied  that  constant 
industry  was  the  only  resource  of  such  as  were  oppressed 
and  despised.  Each  man  upon  his  little  plot  of  ground 
felt  as  if  he  had  a  home  of  his  own  at  last,  felt  sure  of  its 
I'ossesiion,  and  secerned  not  only  desirous  to  cultivate 
the  soil,  but  to  add  certain  simple  embellishments  as  if  to 
make  his  plain  aboda  more  attractive.    Nothing  at  the 

*Mark9:29» 


,1  11 


316 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I   11 


n 


IWkMU       i 


time  could  have  been  more  cheering  to  Mr.  Valiant  than 
the  aspect  of  affairs  upon  the  Heath ;  industry  and  con- 
tentment seemed  to  prevail,  and  wherever  he  made  his 
appearance  he  was  warmly  greeted  as  the  common  bene- 
factor. 

Though  rather  depressed  in  consequence  of  the  want 
of  success  in  his  search  for  his  son  in  Ireland,  still  he  was 
not  at  all  inclined  to  despond,  and  after  a  hurried  inspect- 
tion  of  the  works  he  had  commenced  around  the  place, 
and  of  those  for  the  restoration  of  the  Manor  House,  he 
thjught  it  best  to  visit  Zingari  in  order  to  ascertain  from 
her  whether  she  or  any  of  the  gypsies  knew  anything  of 
the  woman  and  the  boy  who  had  suddenly  disappeared 
from  Mr.  Graham  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  in  England. 

When  Mr.  Valiant  made  his  appearance  at  the  gypsy 
camp  he  was  surprised  to  find  that  they  had  made  pre- 
parations for  his  reception  as  if  he  had  been  a  prince  of 
their  own  kind.  Who  could  have  informed  them  of  his 
coming  V  He  had  told  no  one ;  yet  before  he  had  reached 
the  place  he  was  met  by  gypsy  men  and  maidens  in  holi- 
day garb ;  his  ears  were  greeted  with  music ;  and  children 
presented  him  with  little  bunches  of  wild  flowers  which 
they  had  tastefully  arranged.  When  close  to  the  camp 
he  saw  an  arch  of  evergreens,  and,  as  he  passed  under 
this,  he  was  received  by  Zingari  in  the  most  cordial  man- 
ner ;  she  then  conducted  him  to  her  tent  in  which  an  ex- 
cellent repast  had  been  prepared.  After  he  had  partaken 
of  this  refreshment,  he  addressed  his  entertainers,  he  said 
somethiDg  kind  to  almost  every  one  present,  and  distri- 
buted little  gifts  among  the  children  and  then,  in  a  little 
time  afterward,  he  was  left  alone  with  his  old  gypsy 
friend.  In  a  few  words  Mr.  Valiant  explained  the  object 
of  his  visit.  As  he  knew  Zingari  and  mostly  all  upon  the 
Heath  had  heard  of  the  loss  of  his  son,  he  merely  state  I 
to  her,  that  his  search  in  Ireland  had  proved  unavailing, 
and  that  perhaj)s  the  strange  woman  who  had  left  the  care 
of  her  spiritual  tutor,  Mr.  Graham,  might  be  the  same 
that  had  so  unexpectedly  come  among  them.    Zingari 


il.i 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


817 


was  greatly  interested  in  what  he  said,  and  her  positive 
assurance  that  his  son  was  still  alive,  had  a  most  inspiring 
effect  upon  him  at  the  time.  He  did  not  however  wish  to 
be  considered  a  believer  in  a  soothsayer,  or  in  predictions, 
or  in  the  power  of  any  human  being  to  effect  anything 
supernatural ;  ho  was  one  on  whom  it  would  be  difficult 
to  impose,  but  it  was  not  long  before  Zingari's  manner 
and  acts  satisfied  him  that  the  woman  he  now  consulted 
was  really  possessed  of  extraordinary  powers. 

"  The  one  you  seek,"  said  Zingari  "  has  been  here,  her 
name  is  Maheel,  you  may  have  seen  her  perhaps  in  India ; 
and  you  may  yet  hear  more  of  her  history.  She  knew 
you  well ;  she  feared  that  you  might  have  heard  of  her 
crime  and  that  you  might  be  her  detective ;  and  she  was 
startled  when  your  name  was  first  mentioned  on  the 
Heath.  Through  a  feeling  of  jealousy  and  vindictiveness, 
she  robbed  an  Indian  mother  of  her  son,  and  tried  to 
reduce  him  to  the  condition  of  an  English  slave— such  as 
we  had  here  before  you  came  among  us.  Our  people  saw 
that  he  was  one  of  their  kind;  with  my  assistance  they 
brought  him  back,  and  have  thereby  saved  his  life.  Were 
it  not  for  this  he  might  like  others  be  worn  down  by  years 
of  terrible  servitude.  He  is  still  here  with  me,  but  he  is 
not  your  son,  though  *^^he  child  of  an  English  father— see 
for  yourself." 

She  then  called,  and  the  little  boy  Hemar  entered  and 
stood  before  them.  "You  have  seen  him  before,"  con- 
tinued Zingari,  "he  was  present  with  me  when  you  first 
entered  the  old  Manor  House  on  your  return  from  India." 

"I  now  remember,"  said  John  Valiant,  "but,"  said 
he  after  having  looked  at  the  boy  closely,  "  his  face  singu- 
larly resembles  one  I  must  have  seen  somewhere." 

"This  is  the  boy,"  said  Zingari,  "that  was  brought 
from  Bombay  as  a  concert  by  your  missionary  friend, 
Graham."  Mr.  Valiant,  evidently  perplexed,  still  gazed 
upon  the  boy's  face :  "Whose  features  can  those  possibly 
be,"  said  he  at  last  in  a  reflective  mood—"  not  of  any  one 
in  England  ?  " 


na 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


M 


*•  Yes  of  one  now  in  England,"  calmly  replied  Zingari. 

"Impossible,  impossible  my  good  friend,  quite  impossi- 
ble." replied  Mr.  Valiant  hurriedly,  "you  cannot  tell  mo 
this." 

"I  tell  you  so,"  said  she,  "those  features  remind  y<.a 
of  an  old  friend,  even  of  one  whom  I  have  not  seen  siuuo 
he  was  little  beyond  the  age  of  that  boy  himself." 

"I  cannot  think  it  at  all  likely,"  replied  he  in  an 
incredulous  manner,  "there  can  be  no  person  thai  I 
know  of  in  England  to  whom  the  lad  bears  the  sli;j:litest 
resemblance ;  and  as  you  know  not  who  my  intimate  ac- 
quaintances have  been,  how  can  you  tell  anything  about 
this  old  friend  as  you  call  him  ?" 

"Shall  I  give  you  his  name ?"  inquired  the  old  gypsy 
woman. 

"  You  might  perhaps  make  a  shrewd  guess,"  replied  he, 
"  but  if  you  will  give  me  one  particular  name  it  >7lll  much 
surprise  me." 

"I  shall,"  said  she  giving  him  a  strange  look,  "and  in 
doing  so  I  shall  neither  letter  it,  nor  halve  it,  but  begin.'"— 
In  using  these  words  slowly  and  distinctly  there  must 
have  been  some  significant  meaning  which  caused  him  to 
look  for  a  moment  sternly  at  the  woman  before  him. 
Zingari  seemed  not  to  notice  his  manner,  but  took  out  her 
little  slate  and  laid  it  upon  a  small  table,  with  a  fragment 
of  pencil  between  the  table  and  the  slate.  She  then  plac- 
ed her  hand  upon  the  slate,  and  looking  thoughtfully  ai  it 
for  a  short  time,  said,  as  if  addressing  some  one  else: 
"  "Will  you  give  me  that  name  ?  "  A  slight  tipping  noise 
was  then  heard,  then  the  sound  of  writing,  and  when  that 
ceased  she  lifted  the  slate  and  read ;  she  then  whispered 
into  his  ear,  and  he  at  once  looked  quickly  around  at  her 
in  actual  amazement.  Zingari  smiled  at  his  blank  aston- 
ishment, and  then  as  if  to  bewilder  him  still  more,  she 
held  the  slate  before  him,  and  he  read  in  a  writing  which 
was  most  familiar,  the  signature,  "Charles  Maidston." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  after  an  effort  to  recover  from  his  sur- 
prise, "that  is  wonderful— the  name  although  not  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


319 


handwriting.    It  must  have  been  on  the  slate  all  the  time ; 
who  could  have  written  it  ?  '* 

'•You  may  believe  me,"  said  Zingari,  "that  that  name 
was  never  before  on  my  slate.  I  did  not  write  it,  nor  can 
I  tell  you  how  or  by  whom  it  was  given,  but  there  it  is. 
You  I  know  are  a  doubter  where  others  are  credulous ;  you 
are  a  skeptic,  nay,  an  unbeliever  in  all  religious  creeds ; 
you  are  an  honest  but  determined  opponent  to  supernat- 
ural pretension,  and  to  imposition  of  every  kind,  and  I 
would  dislike  very  much  to  be  suspected  even  for  a  mo- 
ment by  you,  whom  I  believe  to  be  so  great  a  lover  of 
truth.  I  have  not  deceived  you,  there  is  the  name,"  said 
she  pointing  to  the  slate,  "known  here  but  to  yourself: 
there  is  what  you  might  take  to  be  the  handwriting  of 
your  friend ;  now  let  me  see  if  I  can  tell  you  something 
relating  to  him,  ajid  I  shall  afterward  try  and  give  you 
another  and  perhaps  a  more  satisfactory  evidence  of  a  pow- 
er or  influence  about  which  you  yet  seem  to  know  but 
very  little ;  about  which  I  have  scarcely  any  knowlege  my- 
self." 

The  old  woman  then  seated  herself  on  a  mat,  she  plac- 
ed a  hand  over  her  closed  eyes  to  exclude  the  light; 
she  remained  silent  for  a  short  time,  and  while  her  visitor 
was  speculating  as  to  her  intentions  she  spoke  out  si  owly : 
"  I  see  a  traveler  near  the  sunset  hour  in  India,  he  is  on 
his  way  from  Chunar  to  Mirzapore.  The  temple  of  the 
Goddess  Kali  is  almost  in  view ;  he  is  wearied  and  anxious 
1*)  get  to  the  end  of  his  journey,  and  though  he  is  alone 
with  his  Kitmutgav,*  who  accompanies  him,  he  never 
once  thinks  of  robbers,  or  of  the  terrible  Bhuttotes  or 
Lughaees  t  that  still  infest  the  neighborhood.  Now  while 
he  dismounts,  and  waits  to  permit  his  horse  to  drink  at  a 
small  stream,  he  is  suddenly  seized  from  behind;  his 
hands  are  held,  and  a  cord  is  pulled  tightly  around  his 
neck ;  he  is  about  to  fall  to  the  ground ;  there  is  a  shout, 
and  he  is  rescued  from  the  deadly  grasp  of  a  band  of 

•  A  kind  of  hoad-sorvant  in  India. 

t  Stranglors  and  ffravo-diggors  among  tlio  Thugs. 


4  li 


*■  I'm 


:afl 


.  1 1!  '*:- 
r    ' 


V   I 

Ml 

111 
:ri: 


'  V, 


t 


320 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Thugs  by  a  company  of  Vaishyas  *  that  rush  forward ; 
and  these  are  under  the  direction  of— him  whose  name  is 
yet  on  that  slate." 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  here  escaped  from  Johu 
Valiant. 

"Stay,"  said  Zingari,  hastily,  "let  me  see  the  rest. 
Next  day,  the  rescued  one  parts  with  the  friend  that  saved 
his  life ;  he  is  now  returning  to  his  Bungalo ;  he  meets  a 
poor  Pariah,  who  ventures  to  address  him— he  gives  him 
alms.  The  Pariah  utters  a  prayer  for  his  benefactor :  *As 
thou  art  not  afraid  of  my  shadow,  be  assured  that  it  shall 
not  leave  the  unclean.  Thou  shalt  ever  prosper,  but  thou 
canst  not  meet  thy  friend  again  until  thou  hast  crossed 
the  sea,  and  rescued  in  return  the  life  of  his  very  dearest 
friend.' " 

"Amazing!"  said  John  Valiant,  starting  up  like  one 
electrified.  "  Great  heavens,  my  good  woman— that  is  if 
you  are  really  a  human  being— how  has  this  come  to  your 
knowledge?  I  am  that  rescued  traveler.  I  was  saved 
from  the  murderous  Thugs  by  that  very  man— the  only 
time  I  was  ever  so  close  to  death— and  you  know,  or  have 
seen  all  this  which  I  thought  was  unknown  to  any  human 
being,  save  those  who  were  then  present."  He  then  stood 
looking  with  astonishment  at  the  grey-haired  woman,  us 
if  she  had  been  one  r.iised  from  the  dead  to  make  such  a 
revelation, 

Zingari,  however,  still  sat  quite  unmoved  by  his  great 
surprise,  and  by  the  time  he  had  grown  a  little  more  col- 
lected, she  stood  up  and  said:  "Before  you  make  that 
rescue,  or  before  you  meet  that  friend  again,  you  may  be 
nearer  to  death  than  you  were  at  the  time  of  your  own 
deliverance."  She  then  drew  close  to  him,  and  drawing 
out  her  singular  mirror,  held  it  before  him.  "I  want 
you,"  said  she,  "to  look  at  this.  I  told  you  I  would  try 
and  give  you  what  you  might  consider  a  more  satisfactory 
evidence." 


*  Merchants  or  traders* 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THB  HEATH. 


321 


Mr.  Valiant  who  really  folt  like  one  awakened  from  some 
singular  dream  looked  listlessly  at  the  round  piece  of  metal 
which  the  old  gypsy  woman  held  clutched  in  her  hand. 
The  surface  appeared  at  first  view  dim  as  usual ;  they  both 
looked  at  it  stedfastly  for  over  a  minute,  still  it  remained 
clouded,  and  though  he  had  now  scarcely  a  doubt  of  Zin- 
gari's  sincerity,  and  perhaps  of  her  ability  to  do  some 
wonderful  things,  still  he  could  not  help  thinking  that  in 
this  she  might  herself  be  the  victim  of  a  delusion ;  as  it 
was  even  the  old  woman  became  a  little  disconcerted  as  if 
anticipating  a  failure  at  a  time  when  she  was  most  anxious 
that  the  test  which  she  wished  to  give  should  be  most 
conclusive.  They  still  looked;  at  last  the  edge  of  the 
mirror  began  to  get  clear ;  the  dimness  wore  slowly  away 
until  its  surface,  even  to  Zingari,  appeared  to  be  unusually 
bright  and  glistening.  Thus  it  remained  for  a  time  longer 
and  nothing  yet  could  be  seen  upon  it  except  the  shadow 
of  some  passing  cloud.  John  Valiant,  now  more  doubtful 
turned  to  look  at  his  old  gypsy  companion,  but  quick  as 
his  glance  fell  again  upon  the  mirror,  he  observed  a  face— 
a  woman's  face— one  of  the  most  interesting,  if  not  to  him 
one  of  the  most  beautiful  which  he  had  ever  beheld.  So 
absorbed  did  he  become  with  the  fascinating  pictun ,  that 
he  actually  hold  Zingari  by  the  arm  lest  she  should  with- 
draw from  his  view  that  which  seemed  to  rivet  his  gaze, 
and  to  produce  the  strangest,  yet  the  most  pleasing  emo- 
tions. The  old  gypsy  woman  herself  was  somewhat  sur- 
prised ;  she  knew  the  face  at  a  glance ;  it  was  not  that 
which  she  wished  to  have  appear,  but  when  she  saw  the 
effect  which  it  produced  upon  one  so  guarded  and  unde- 
monstrative as  her  visitor,  she  was  secretly  pleased  and 
wished  to  indulge  the  eager  gaze  of  the  observer  to  the 
fullest  extent. 

•*  Beautiful  1   Who  is  this  ?  Who  is  she  ?"  said  he  at  last 
without  removing  his  eyes  from  the  mirror. 

"Another  friend,'*  replied  Zingari,  "whom  you  have 
never  yet  seen  ;  but  whom  you  may  shortly  meet." 

'  •  Another  friend  I    Can  it  be  so  ?  I  would  be  glad,  would 


K 


^im 


k 


322 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


'hi;  i 


be  delighted  to  find  such  a  one  now.  Strange,"  said  ho, 
still  gazing  on  tlie  picture,  "  there  is  the  very  same  ex- 
pression—And you  know  her  ?"  said  he  turning  to  Zingari. 

**Yes,  ever  since  her  childhoood.  She  has  been  my 
friend,  and  one  of  the  dearest  friends  of  him  whose  name 
you  have  seen  on  that  slate." 

'•  Not  his  wife  surely— not  his  wife  ?"  said  Mr.  Valiant, 
in  a  tone  of  eager  inquiry  that  brought  a  smile  upon  tho 
face  of  the  old  gypsy  woman. 

**  No  not  his  wife ;  the  wife  of  no  man  yet,"  replied  she, 
"  happy  will  be  he  who  can  hereafter  claim  her  as  such." 

He  then  turned  to  look  at  the  lace  again  but  lo!  it  had 
disappeared ;  his  disappointment  was  plainly  visible ;  and 
the  surface  of  the  mirror  was  again  dim  even  in  the  sua 
light  which  filled  the  wide  opening  of  the  spacious  tent. 

In  his  intercourse  with  women  John  Valiant  had  always 
been  diffident.  Though  his  face  was  one  which  would 
have  readily  enabled  him  to  win  his  way  in  affairs  of  the 
heart,  yet  there  was  not  the  least  forwardness  or  assur- 
ance in  his  disposition ;  while  at  all  times  he  showed  the 
greatest  deference  to  the  softer  sex,  he  felt  under  perfect 
control  in  their  society ;  and  never  perhaps  did  an  impulse 
toward  them  betray  him  into  an  act  or  expression  beyond 
that  of  the  most  rigid  propriety.  Yet  now,  even  in  the 
presence  of  the  old  gypsy  woman,  he  was  conscious  of 
having  exhibited  a  weakness— if  such  it  can  be  called— 
which  made  him  feel  rathe,  abashed.  His  gaze  of  delight, 
his  expressions  of  admiration,  his  eager  inquiries,  told 
their  own  story,  and  led  him  to  imagine  that  he  bad  been 
singularly  unguarded,  and  that  his  indiscretion,  or  want  of 
caution,  would  perhaps  be  fully  understood ;  or,  it  might 
be,  misunderstood  by  Zingari.  He  would  above  all  things 
at  the  moment  have  liked  to  know  the  name  of  her  whoso 
image  had  so  suddenly  impressed  him,  but  he  dare  not 
ask,  he  could  not  venture  to  utter  an  inquiry ;  and  then 
deeming  it  prudent  he  tried  to  affect  indilTerence,  but  his 

attempts  in  this  direction  were  a  positive  failure.    Yet 
thoni^h  his  awkwardness  of  mannor  and  utterance  had  a 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


823 


signiflcant  meaning  for  Zingari ;  she  merely  smiled  at  his 
discomfiture,  and  for  some  reason  offered  no  further  infor- 
mation concerning  one  in  whom  she  knew  he  felt  so  inter- 
ested. 

As  it  was,  he  had  a  pregnant  theme  which  enabled  him 
to  revert  to  another  matter,  and  escape  from  his  embar- 
rassment—what of  his  son  ?  He  did  not  even  yet  believe 
that  Zingari  could  give  him  reliable  assurance  of  his 
safety,  or  point  in  the  direction  in  which  he  might  bo 
found;  yet  still  his  impulse  was  to  inquire.  There  are 
cases  in  which  it  affords  a  kind  of  relief  to  ask  a  question, 
even  when  one  scarcely  expects  to  get  a  satisfactory  re- 
ply. The  old  gypsy  woman  had  little  over  an  hour  since 
told  him  that  his  boy  was  yet  living— this  he  was  inclined 
to  doubt  and  inclined  to  believe— but  had  she  not  siuco 
then  made  revelations  actually  astounding,  and  he  would 
ask  again. 

Zingari  saw  that  he  was  greatly  troubled;  and  being 
most  desirous  of  affording  him  some  encouraging  acsur- 
ance,  told  him  that  her  impression  was  that  he  would  soon 
meet  his  son  again,  "  though  "  said  she  in  an  under  tone, 
•'  it  may  be  in  the  midst  of  danger  from  which  you  both 
will  escape  with  difficulty." 

In  a  short  time  afterward  Mr.  Valiant  took  leave  of 
Zingari  and  his  other  kind  gypsy  friends.  A  horse  was  in 
waiting  for  him,  and  it  was  nearly  Lun  down  when  he  left 
the  Heath.  He  was  obliged  to  go  to  London  agam,  and 
on  his  way  had  business  to  transact  pt  Pendell  and  ho  hur- 
ried to  get  to  that  village  before  dark.  As  he  rode  on  he 
thought  of  that  beautiful  face  he  had  seen  in  the  mirror, 
and  then  of  his  old  gypsy  friend  and  of  her  very  singular 
revelations.  What  he  had  heard  and  seen  in  her  presence 
almost  led  him  to  believe  that  he  was  not  in  his  right 
mind.  He  who  but  very  lately  would  have  scoffed  at  any 
reliance  on  witches  or  necromancers,  was  now,  in  his  con- 
fused state  of  mind  partly  under  the  impresion  that  he 
must  have  been,  to  some  extent,  bewitched  or  controlled. 
He  had  heard  of  spirit  manifestations  and  of  mediums, 


Ml 


'«  Ml 


i.ll'  !i! 


324 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


m 


Ma 


and  had  been  hitherto  of  the  opinion  that  those  were  a 
superstitious  delusion,  and  these  a  set  of  fanatics  or  impos- 
tors ;  he  even  still  believed  that  many  of  the  numerous 
clairvoyants  and  test  mediums,  and  charlatans  of  Spirit- 
ualism that  resort  to  towns  and  cities,  and  advertise  to 
reveal  secrets,  and  hold  communication  with  the  spirit 
world,  were  too  often  to  be  found  among  those  who  try  to 
make  a  living  by  imposing  upon  the  credulous.  But  what 
could  he  say  of  Zingari,  who,  without  pretension  of  any 
kind,  had  given  him  clear  evidence  of  a  power  that  was  to 
him  inexplicable;  and,  much  as  it  conflicted  with  old 
opinions  and  old  prejudices  he  believed  that  it  was  but 
manly  and  just  to  acknowledge  that  she  was  no  deceiver ; 
that  much,  if  not  all  of  what  he  had  witnessed  that  day, 
could  not  by  any  method  of  reasoning  be  ttributed  to 
the  practice  of  any  deceptive  art;  there  might  be,  he 
thought,  some  possible  mode  of  explanation,  but  as  it  was, 
he  began  to  think  there  must  be  natural  laws,  physical 
and  mental,  not  as  yet  properly  understood,  and  which 
when  better  known  must  to  a  great  extent  change  the 
views  of  many  of  the  prominent  scientists  and  philoso- 
phers that  were  already  too  dogmatic  in  establishing  con- 
clusions in  accordance  with  their  present  scanty  stock  of 
knowledge. 

When  he  reached  his  quarters  at  Pendell  he  found  the 
people  of  the  place  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  Some 
disaster  had  happened,  and  he  could  hardly  get  an  i;:  .eli- 
gible reply  to  his  inquiries.  His  host  was  not  to  be  z  en 
and  those  who  hurried  into  and  out  of  the  tavern  seemec] 
to  do  so  without  any  settled  purpose.  Anxious  to  know 
what  had  occurred  he  went  in  a  few  minutes  to  Sarah  Af- 
ton's  cottage,  there  he  met  old  Stephen  Gray  who  told  him 
that  the  landlord  of  the  inn  and  two  boatmen,  had,  after 
breakfast  that  morning,  sailed  out  on  the  bay  toward  the 
lighthouse,  with  the  rector  of  Pendell  the  Kev.  Mr.  Mor- 
ton; that  some  returning  fishermen  had  seen  the  boat 
capsized  by  a  sudden  blast ;  the  landlord  and  the  two  men 
being  expert,  had  clung  to  the  boat  and  were  rescued,  but 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


325 


the  rector  could  not  be  found,  he  had  sank  and  was  not 
seen  to  rise  again ;  his  body  had  been  carried  out  to  sea, 
and  would  not  in  all  probability  ever  be  recovered. 

Was  this  to  be  the  first  dark  scene  in  the  fulfilment  of 
Zingari's  strange  prediction  ?  George  Morton  the  rector 
of  Pendell  lying  sepulchered  in  the  deep  sea,  and  unooffln- 
ed  beneath  the  heaving  waves. 


r«:f|;i: 


;   <i 


'^1  i 


.i"vV 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

THE  LOST  FOUND. 

"TlOR  over  a  week  after  the  sad  occurence  on  Pendell  bay 
-*-  Miss  Meade  was  unable  to  leave  her  room.  The  shock 
caused  by  the  news  of  the  sudden  death  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Morton,  had  produced  severe  nervous  effects  which  greatly 
prostrated  her.  She  did  not,  however,  wish  it  to  be  sur- 
mised that  her  indiposition  was  in  any  way  attributable 
to  that  disaster,  although  she  was  now  fully  satisfied  that 
were  it  not  for  the  perverse  infatuation  of  the  Rector, 
and  his  uncurbed  desires  for  her  society,  he  might  still  bo 
among  the  living.  It  was  now  plain,  that  the  passion  in 
which  he  had  indulged  year  after  year,  was  at  last  the 
cause  of  his  destruction ;  and  though  she  could  have  had 
no  reason  to  regret  his  loss,  though  he  had  obstinately 
and  persistently  for  a  long  period  dared  to  harrass  her 
with  what  she  considered  unmanly  and  offensive  atten- 
tions, now,  that  she  thought  of  his  untimely  end,  of  his 
bereaved  family,  of  his  unprepared  condition  for  eternity, 
and  of  his  body  perhaps  being  tossed  about  upon  the  waves, 
dashed  against  the  rocks,  or  lying  entangled  fathoms 
deep  among  the  sea  weeds,  she  could  have  forgiven  ail, 
and  would  have  tried  to  forget  the  words  and  acts  of  him 
who  had  given  her  so  much  annoyance,  were  it  but  possi- 
ble to  restore  him  to  his  weeping  wife,  and  to  a  life  which 
he  in  a  manner  had  forfeited. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fatal  day  on  which  the  rector 
had  lost  his  life,  some  person  had  informed  him  that  she 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH.    ' 

had  gone  out  on  an  excursion  to  the  light  house,  and 
thinking  he  might  have  a  good  opportunity  of  meeting 
her  there,  he  started  off  with  the  landlord  of  the  inn  and 
two  boatmen  for  that  locality.  His  information  respect- 
ing Miss  Meade's  excursion  was,  however,  incorrect,  for  in- 
stead of  having  left  in  a  boat  for  the  light  house  as  he  had 
been  led  to  believe,  she  had  walked  out  to  visit  a  family 
that  resided  about  two  miles  from  Pendell.  As  it  was,  she 
could  not  reproach  herself  in  the  slighest  degree  for  the 
course  she  had  pursued  towards  him.  She  had  never  at 
any  time,  by  word  or  deed,  led  him  to  imagine  that  his 
professions  to  her  could  be  considered  other  than  insults 
for  which  he  would  have  been  called  certainly  to  answer, 
were  it  not  that  she  had  to  curb  her  indignation,  and  even 
tolerate  the  presence  of  her  persecutor  rather  than  agitate 
her  father  by  making  known  to  him  the  actual  course  of 
conduct  pursued  by  his  clerical  employer.  O,  how  often 
during  these  periods  of  her  humilation  did  she  wish  for 
her  absent  brother;  his  presence  would  have  undoubtdly 
relieved  her  from  the  hated  attentions  of  the  rector,  and 
have  quickly  taught  that  Rev.  gentleman  the  value  of 
discretion  when  he  came  to  know  that  she  had  such  a 
proctector  so  near.  Now  under  a  feeling  of  extreme  de- 
pression she  thought  again  and  again  of  him  who  had 
been  her  earliest  companion,  and  of  his  unaccountable 
silence.  Charles  Meade,  her  brother,  had  not  been  heard 
from  for  a  long  time,  and  the  dreadful  conjecture  often 
arose  that  his  death  alone  could  be  the  cause  of  his  appar- 
ent neglect.  Letter  after  letter  had  remained  unanswered 
and  as  her  father  and  herself  had  been  informed  in  the 
earlier  ones  which  her  brother  had  sent  them  that  he  was 
obliged  to  lead  a  kind  of  wandering  life  in  India,  they 
were  in  consequence  of  his  neglect,  or  inability  to  com- 
municate with  them,  unable  to  give  the  proper  address  to 
any  letter  they  might  wish  to  send  him,  and  were  often 
subject  to  apprehensions  of  the  most  painful  nature.  Then 
she  would  think  of  her  poor  aged  father,  of  him  whose  life 
had  been  an  almost  constant  struggle  with  difficulties, 


»}  i  iiB..;  -! 


m 

l.idii 


If 


'.  f 


1 


m 

■■M-- :  *. 


328 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


1     . 


whose  duties  had  been  nearly  unceasing,  and  who  in  his 
decline  was,  mainly  on  her  account,  forced  to  deny  himself 
the  necessary  relaxation  which  his  health  demanded.  It 
was  not  long  since  that  the  unfortunate  rector  had  plainly 
intimated  to  her — and  partly  no  doubt  as  a  threat— that 
her  father  was  not  able  to  perform  his  required  duties,  and 
that  he  was  retained  as  curate  of  Pendell  out  of  considera- 
tion for  her.  Who,  thought  she,  is  to  be  his  next  employer  ? 
Will  my  father  be  kept  on  to  preach  and  to  pray  for  a  few 
years  longer  with  his  old  parishioners  ?  Will  the  greed  of 
a  new  rector  cause  his  salary  to  be  reduced,  or  will  he  be 
thrown  aside  and  superannuated  and  left  to  depend  upon 
the  pittance  o?  charity  which  may  be  doled  out  by  some 
needy  clerical  society?  The  bishop  of  the  diocese,  the 
Right  Reverend  Thomas  Sumpter,  has  sufficient  influence 
to  get  the  rich  living  of  Pendell  sold  to  a  friend  at  a  low 
rate,  or  even  presented  to  any  particular  favorite  whom 
he  may  recommend.  On  whom  will  it  be  bestowed  ?  Per- 
haps some  aristocratic  fop,  some  reverend  honvivant,  or 
some  newly  ordained  obsequious  creature,  may  come 
among  us  as  rector,  to  reap  where  he  has  not  sown,  to 
pocket  yearly  over  eight  hundred  pounds  sterling  for  his 
semi-annual  visits,  while  some  dainty  young  curate— a 
slip  shod  theologist— a  ladies'  man  skilled  in  archery  and 
familiar  with  croquet  lawns,  will  be  glad  to  come  here  and 
preach  pure  and  undefiled  doctrines  on  Sundays,  and  flirt 
about  during  the  week  days  on  a  salary  probably  of  less 
than  one-tenth  of  that  which  his  rector  is  to  receive  for 
the  cure  of  souls  at  Pendell.  Oh !  thought  she,  what  a 
monstrous  system  of  injustice  is  the  whole  arrangement 
for  the  sale  or  presentation  of  Church  livings— making 
merchandize  of  that  which  should  be  held  sacred,  inviting 
the  attention  of  keen  speculators,  and  courting  invest- 
ments from  the  most  unscrupulous  worldlings. 

There  was  a  time  when  Esther  Meade  would  not  have 
held  such  opinions  respecting  any  thing  connected  with 
the  Church,  or  with  the  management  of  its  secular  afl'airs, 
there  we^  3  long  years  during  which  she  would  have  dread- 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


829 


ed  to  cast  a  reflection  on  the  conduct  or  even  on  the 
motives  of  any  of  God's  so-called  servants,  but  she  had 
seen  enough  lately  to  convince  her  that  though  the  doc- 
trines of  the  Church  might  be  pure,  though  its  liturgy  and 
ceremonies  might  be  scriptural,  yet  that  its  priests,  more 
particularly  those  of  the  higher  order,  were  as  sordid,  as 
intriguing,  and  as  ambitious,  as  any  other  class  of  men, 
and  that  their  assumption  of  superiority  as  being  the 
"  called  of  God,"  was  simply  one  of  the  most  flagrant  im- 
positions. A  wonderful  change  had  indeed  taken  place 
in  her  opinions  regarding  those  whom  she  once  considered 
as  "the  truly  ordained  successors  of  the  apo.tles,"  and 
whose  authority  in  scriptural  or  ecclesiastical  affairs 
should  be  submitted  to  without  a  murmur.  Now,  how- 
ever, she  looked  upon  the  majority  of  these  pretentious 
reverends  and  right  reverends  in  a  different  light,  for  as 
soon  as  her  suspicions  had  been  fairly  aroused,  she  stud- 
ied their  characters  and  drew  inferences  from  their  con- 
duct, and,  from  what  she  had  discovered,  had  to  conclude 
that  many,  very  many  of  them  were  little  better  than 
what  most  of  the  poor  of  the  parish  designated  them— 
*' wolves  in  sheep's  clothing ;  shepherds  that  remorselessly 
preyed  upon  the  flock." 

Pained  as  she  was  to  be  obliged  to  think  so  differently 
of  the  clergy  of  her  Church,  the  great  majority  of  whom 
she  once  believed  to  be  beyond  reproach,  and  every  way 
superior  to  the  inflated  preachers  of  dissent,  she  was  now 
willing  to  admit  to  the  very  few  persons  that  had  her  con- 
fidence, that  from  undoubted  evidence,  ministers  of  the 
gospel  were  in  some  particular  respects  among  the  frailest 
of  mankind.  And  then  forced  in  a  manner  to  such  a  con- 
clusion, other  considerations  would  follow  which  at  times 
caused  her  great  uneasiness.  Can  the  doctrines  which 
such  men  teach  be  true?  can  those  jealous,  wrangling, 
vituperative  sects  who  are  ambitious  to  have  grand 
churches  and  costly  decorations— even  though  the  widow 
and  the  orphan  should  be  houseless  and  hungry— and 
whose  preachers  delight  to  be  seen  and  known  of  men, 


M 


m 


I- 


iif< 

Mm 

mS| 

i^r 

m 

m 

,      ! 

■V  ' 

! 
i 

i'AL  j 

1    , 

330 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


:u    J 


it:   t 


^w 


can  such  as  these,  whose  \ain  desires  belie  their  profes- 
sions, be  in  any  degree  called  humble  followers  of  any 
divine  teacher,  or  the  sole  possessors  of  the  only  creed 
which  can  be  claimed  as  the  basis  of  pure  and  undeflled 
religion  ?  Are  such  teachers  at  all  necessary,  or  would 
morality  and  humanity  be  the  gainers,  were  the  whole 
race  extinct  ?  But  here  she  was  suddenly  startled  at  ker 
own  approach  toward  skepticism,  she  dared  not  take 
another  step  in  advance.  Where  could  such  dangerous 
reasoning  lead  her,  but  to  that  bleak  unbelief  whieh  was 
said  to  have  left  thousands  without  a  hope  in  the  future ; 
for  her  reading  and  reflection  had  almost  always  led  her 
to  suppose  that  disbelievers  in  revelation  must  be  the 
most  self-convicted  and  unhappy  of  all  God's  crea- 
tures. 

One  of  the  very  few  that  ever  had  the  confidence  of 
Esther  Meade,  was  old  Sarah  Afton.  Sarah  had  long  been 
made  aware  of  the  late  rector's  designs,  and  she  had  many 
a  time  warned  her  young  friend  of  his  presence  in  tho 
neighborhood.  In  every  difficulty  of  any  importance, 
Miss  Meade  was  sure  to  consult  with  this  good  woman ; 
and  now  having  sufficiently  recovered  from  her  late  indis- 
position, she  once  more  made  her  way  toward  Sarah's 
cottage. 

"Ah,  bless  me,  sweet  child,  but  I'm  glad  to  see  you  out 
again ;  why,  deary,  you  look  as  well  as  ever.  When  Stephen 
was  here  yestreen  he  told  me  you  wanted  to  go  to  the 
church  again  to-night  to  try  the  organ ;  better  wait  a  bit 
longer ;  in  another  day  or  so  it  would  be  little  risk  and 
your  music  might  be  better." 

**No  risk  now  whatever,"  replied  Esther,  *'  Ifeel  quite 
recovered,  I  told  you  when  you  called  to  see  me  two  days 
ago,  that  if  I  could  not  pray  for  the  soul  of  him  who  had 
departed,  I  must  at  least  play  a  reqiuem  to  his  memory ; 
a  requiem  in  proof  of  my  forgiveness." 

"Dear  child,  you  could  do  naught  else  than  forgive— 'tis 
your  nature.  May  God  forgive  him  too !  Rector  Morton 
had  much  to  answer  for;  his  spirit  may  come  again  to  tho 


.  I" 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 

old  church  when  you  play ;  if  any  spell  can  bring  it  back 
11  must  be  your  music." 

"I  feel  anxious,  mother,  to  let  my  feelings  speak,  and 
only  through  the  organ  can  I  truly  tell  my  pity  for  his 
fato.  I  want  to  touch  those  keys,  and  should  his  spirit 
come  I  would  that  the  music  of  my  poor  pardon  could 
bring  it  nearer  to  eternal  rest." 

"God  bless  your  affectionate  heart,  dear  child!  O, 
what  a  paradise  this  distracted  world  might  have  been  if 
human  creatures  had  forgiven  one  another  just  as  you 
have  forgiven  this  man  who  caused  you  so  many  hours  of 
vexation  and  trouble  ?" 

"Well,  mother,  let  us  only  hope  that  he  has  found 
mercy ;  I  will  go  to  the  church  to-night  with  Stephen,  and 
when  I  leave  it,  I  shall  try  to  forget  forever  the  misconduct 
of  him  who  can  never  injure  another." 

"Ah  me,  ah  me,"  said  old  Sarah,  "what  a  fate;  who 
would  have  thought  it !  When  I  saw  him  pass  here  less 
than  two  weeks  ago,  a  healthy  man,  but  may  be  with 
bad  notions  in  his  head— I  little  thouj^ht  when  he  was 
riding  down  that  hill  slope  yonder,  thai  he  was  so  soon 
to  find  his  grave  imder  the  waves  way  out  in  the  Bay — my, 
my,  my,  may  God  preserve  us  all  from  such  an  end!" 
Then  after  a  li^tlo  reflection  she  continued '.  "  But,  deary, 
has  your  kind  father  returned  from  Storkchester,  you 
must  be  rather  lonely  ao  the  parsonage  in  his  absence  ?  " 

"He  has  not  returnc^d  yet,"  replied  Esther,  "he  left 
yesterday  morning  and  may  not  be  back  until  to-morrow 
—he  may  return  to-night.  Some  friends  urged  him  to  go 
on  to  Storkchester  and  call  on  the  bishop ;  they  got  seve- 
ral signatures  to  some  kind  of  a  document  in  his  favor ; 
indeed  I  think  nearly  all  in  the  parish  signed  it.  Yet  I 
fear  it  will  be  of  little  service ;  money,  or  the  influence  of 
some  titled  man  of  fashion,  will  of  course  be  most  likely 
to  secure  the  appointment  to  the  rectorship;  my  father 
who  has  been  here  so  long  only  wants  to  try  and  retain 
his  present  humble  position ;  he  would  ]ike  to  be  continued 
as  curate;  that's  all  he  would  seek— the  people  I  know 


l-irii ' 


■1:1 

' ;  ill 


I 


i' 


^, ,.  •(:■ 


332 


THE  HEA-THENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


want  him— and  he  is  gone  to  solicit  hia  lordship  to  say 
something  in  his  behalf." 

"Of  course  he  will,  of  course  he  will,"  said  Sarah 
eagerly,  "of  course  the  bishop  will  help  him." 

"But  bless  you,  mother,"  continued  Esther  with  some 
touch  of  irony,  "  the  bishop  has,  I  suppose,  too  many 
weighty  matters  to  settle,  to  allow  his  mind  to  be  dis- 
turbed by  such  a  trifling  affair  as  my  father  would  bring  to 
his  notice;  beside  his  lordship  might  not  like  to  inter- 
fere with  the  business  arrangements— with  the  pounds,  shil- 
lings, and  pence  matters— of  the  new  rector,  who  may 
want  some  favorite  to  act  as  his  curate  at  Pendell,  or  some 
very  needy  parson  who  may  be  glad  to  offer  his  clerical 
services  for  may  be  less  than  forty  pounds  a  year;  my 
father,  you  know,  had  sixty  from  Mr.  Morton." 

"Old  Sarah  Afton  remained  thoughtful  for  a  few  mo- 
ments and  then  exclaimed :  "  Deary,  deary,  such  a  thing 
could  never  be  allowed;  never.  What!  send  him  away 
who  has  been  a  kind  minister  among  us  so  long,  and  let 
another  take  his  place?  Never,  dear  child,  the  people 
would  never  allow  it!  the  bishop  would  never  allow  it! 
What  is  the  bishop  for,  and  what  is  the  Church  for,  if  such 
a  thing  could  happen  ?  " 

"The  bishop,"  said  Miss  Meade  calmly,  "  is  one  ap- 
pointed to  rule  the  people  of  his  diocese,  and  to  pay  as 
little  attention  as  he  likes  to  their  wishes.  He  lives  in  a 
palace,  he  is  driven  about  in  his  carriage,  and  has  servants 
in  livery  to  attend  him ;  he  confirms  some  here  and  there ; 
he  ordains  a  few  in  his  cathedral,  and  imparts  his  solemn 
blessing  to  the  congregation  in  it  on  Sundays;  he  gives 
grand  dinners  and  champagne ;  he  dines  out  and  drinks 
the  richest  wines ;  and  at  the  end  of  the  year  he  draws  his 
princely  salary  of  over  six  thousand  pounds— how  much 
our  high-priest  at  Storkchester  gives  the  poor  out  of  that 
is,  through  his  great  modesty,  only  known  to  himself." 

"That's  what  a  bishop  is  for  mother.*    Now  I  shall  tell 


*  See  Note  u.  An  opinion  of  the  Ohurch  of  England  bishoDS  by 
the  Church  Herald. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


333 


you  what  the  church  is  for.  It  will  soon  bo  no  place 
for  the  poor  or  the  humble;  in  every  city  and  town  in 
the  kingdom  it  will  soon  bo  no  longer  a  plain,  simple  edi- 
fice, but  a  structure  of  polished  marble  of  vast  and  magni- 
ficent proportions  and  exterior;  the  interior  will  bo 
gorgeous  with  windows  of  stained  glass;  with  silken 
cushions,  and  carpets  of  the  richest  material ;  with  costly 
statues  of  dead  heroes,  and  dead  prelates ;  with  pictures, 
and  with  a  profusion  of  texts  and  other  decorations  in 
silver  and  gold ;  it  is  to  be  a  palace  to  which  the  noble,  the 
wealthy  and  the  titled  can  resort  in  all  their  pomp  and 
glory,  perhaps  to  exhibit  the  latest  fashions,  or  to  listen 
to  operatic  stars  who  are  richly  paid  to  chant  the  praises 
of  God.  Besides  this,  the  Church  will  be,  as  it  has  long 
been,  the  mart  for  certain  speculators,  and  a  hive  of  wealth 
in  which  numerous  clerical  drones  can  fatten  at  the  ex- 
pense of  the  whole  community." 

"  'Deed,  but  you  surprise  me  child,"  said  old  Sarah, 
scarcely  able  to  comprehend  all  that  had  just  been  said. 

**No,  my  poor  simple  friend,"  said  Esther,  "you  know 
but  little  about  these  things ;  but  they  have  been  forced 
upon  my  notice  for  some  time ;  they  are  also  startlingly 
apparent  to  others.  The  whole  Christian  Church  has 
been  debauched  by  wealth ;  the  very  sects  have  been  cor- 
rupted, and  they  try  to  vie  even  with  us,  and  to  rival  one 
another,  in  their  love  for  extravagant  display ;  and  all  this 
though  paupers  increase,  and  the  pleadings  of  the  poor 
become  more  and  more  pitiful.  But  hear  me,"  said  she 
with  increased  energy,  "  there  must  be  another  revolution 
in  England  before  long;  and  a  greater  than  Luther  must 
soon  come  with  no  half  measures,  but  with  a  vast  and 
sweeping  reformation. " 

Sarah  Af  ton  still  looked  with  surprise  at  the  vehement 
manner  of  the  young  lady,  and  though  she  was  somewhat 
in  doubt  as  to  the  meaning  of  her  hurried  words,  she  was 
content  to  suppose  that  they  related  to  the  present  uncer- 
tain position  of  her  father,  the  curate.  "I'm  sure  what 
you  say  is  correct,"  said  the  sympathizing  woman,  "I'm 


?  *  ! 


1    I       I 


334 


THE  HEATHEN8  OP  THE  HEATH, 


i    .  f-< 


':» 


9iu  'tj' 


quite  sure  of  that,  but  dear  young  lady,  come  what  may- 
even  the  worst— your  good  kind  father  will  not  bo  without 
friends.  I  know  of  one  who  will  bo  his  friend,  and  who 
will  not  let  him  suffer  at  the  hands  of  the  rector,  or  bibliop, 
or  pope,  or  anybody  else ;  a  good  man  who  has  served  us 
all  since  he  came  among  us.  But  I  heard  you  say  that 
you  had  never  yet  seen  him ;  that's  strange,  my  dear ;  but 
now  I  remember  you  were  away  at  the  rector's  in  London 
when  he  came  here  first;  and  you  were  away  when  ho 
called  at  the  parsonage ;  but  you  will  see  him  hero  soon 
and  then  I  know  you  will  like  him  just  as  well  as  we  all 
do ;  even  old  Zingari  the  gypsy  who  is  so  particular  thinks 
he  is  the  finest  man  living." 

This  indirect  allusion  to  one  who  had  long  been  in  Miss 
Meade's  thoughts,  and  who  she  believed  was  the  same 
person  that  Zingari  also  had  reference  to,  caused  a  blush 
to  spread  over  Esther's  cheek  while  her  old  friend  was 
speaking  ^x  him.  The  face  that  she  had  unexpectedly 
seen  in  Zingari's  mirror  had  made  a  sin;  '  impression ; 
it  was  at  times  vividly  before  her ;  it  even  came  to  her  in 
her  dreams.  Yet  what  was  remarkable,  even  to  herself, 
she  somehow  dreaded  to  make  the  least  inquiry,  lest  sIk* 
should  be  suspected  of  taking  an  unusua.  interest  in  the 
individual  that  all  seemed  to  praise.  At  last  she  ventured  to 
ask  with  suppressed  voice,  "Was  Mr.  Valiant  here  lately?" 

"  Ay  dear,  he  was— let  me  see,  a  week— nearly  two  weeks 
ap^o ;  he  was  here  the  very  day  that  the  rector  was  drown- 
ed. He  sat  with  us  for  over  an  hour  in  the  gloaming,  and 
he  talked  with  me  and  Stephen  about  the  rector  and  his 
sad  end,  and  about  yota:  father,  and  about  yourself— ay, 
so  kindly  too  about  you,  deary ;  he  even  asked  me  what 
your  face  was  like,  and  then  what  I  told  him  about  your 
sweet  countenance,  seemed  as  if  to  set  him  a  thinking, 
and  after  that  he  sat  there  where  you  are  now  without 
saying  a  word  for  a  long  while ;  he  did  not  say  much  more 
to  us  that  evening  but  soon  afterward  went  away.  He 
must  be  back  about  this  time,  I  think— Oh  I  know  you 
will  Mke  him  very  much." 


m»i 


♦  i'. 


THE  HEATUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


335 


Esther  Moiidc  was  looking  out  upon  the  shaded  path- 
way through  the  diamond  shaped  panes  of  the  cottage 
window ;  slie  was  looking  out  vacantly,  and  could  neither 
Bee  the  bay,  the  lighthouse,  nor  the  church  tower;  all 
before  her  at  the  moment  seemed  to  be  vacancy.  She  felt 
her  cheeks  burning,  and  her  thoughts  becoming  singu- 
larly confused.  A  strange  palpitation  and  a  dimness  of 
sight  brought  on  a  feeling  of  weakness.  She  tried  hard 
to  appear  calm,  and  to  escape  the  notice  of  her  old  friend ; 
and  in  a  short  time  when  she  had  become  more  collected, 
she  changed  the  subject  of  conversation,  and  made  some 
remark  about  her  brother. 

•'  There,"  said  Sarah,  *'  my  dream  is  out !  What  do  you 
think,  deary  ?  I  dreamt  last  night  about  your  brother 
Charles,  and  I  quite  forgot  it  until  you  mentioned  his 
name.  These  dreams  are  strange  anyway.  I  thought 
that  I  saw  you  and  him  out  on  the  Bay,  as  you  used  to  be 
long  ago,  and  thai  a  storm  arose,  and  that  great  fishes  put 
up  their  heads  around  your  boat ;  and  then  you  both  saw 
rector  Morton,  who  was  lost,  floating  about  on  a  plank, 
and  that  you  pulled  him  in,  and  after  a  good  deal  of 
trouble,  brought  him  safe  to  land.  Now  wasn't  that  a 
curious  dream,  and  what  can  be  its  meaning  ?  " 

*'  Nothing  ©f  any  consequence  you  may  be  sure,"  said 
Miss  Meade,  "I  never  pay  much  attention  to  dreams  of 
any  kind.  A  dream  is  but  the  shadow  of  the  memory;  it 
may  give  you  the  dim  outlines  of  that  which  has  passed ;  I 
scarcely  think  it  will  raise  the  veil  to  give  one  a  glimpse  of 
the  future." 

After  some  further  conversation  about  her  brother, 
Esther  took  her  leave  and  went  back  to  the  parsonage  in 
the  hope  that  she  would  see  her  father  return  before  sun- 
set. 

That  night  at  the  usual  hour  old  Stephen  Gray  was 
again  under  the  porch  at  the  church  door.  It  was  gusty, 
and  the  rushing  wind  moaned  through  the  cypress  trees, 
and  set  the  numerous  willows  growing  around,  to  wave 
mournfully  over  the  tombs  and  little  mounds  in  the 


•  Hi.1 


'4: 


3dG 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


t^  V  ■ 


!'■  ■  ■■ 


grave  yard.  Esther  came  but  she  was  not  alone,  she  had 
met  old  Zingari  in  the  dim  pathway  leading  to  the  build- 
ing, .md  they  entered  the  cnurch  together. 

In  a  few  minutes  afterward  Esther  commenced  her 
requiem,  and  the  listeners  that  heard  her  sad  strains 
might  have  fancied  that  she  was  using  her  utmost  skill  as 
if  to  reanimate  him  who  had  been  lately  cast  away.  It  came 
upon  the  ear  like  the  faintest  murmurs  of  grief,  and  then 
in  waves  of  exquisite  melody  that  would  touch  the  heart 
of  the  most  obdurate,  and  then  came  pitiful  sounds,  and 
tender  syncopated  passages  like  sobs,  and  plaintive  har- 
mony, that  some  would  think  ought  to  have  made  angela 
weep,  or  have  stirred  the  dead  that  lay  around  the  grey 
old  sanctuary.  But  though  angels  may  not  be  able  to 
yield  to  emotions  of  sorrow,  human  beings  have  still  the 
solace  of  teirs,  and  old  Stephen's  eyes  were  filled  when  he 
thought  of  the  sad  fate  of  the  rector  whom  he  had  known 
so  long ;  and  Zingari,  who  sat  alone  in  one  of  the  darkest 
corners  of  the  church,  was  weeping,  weeping  again  per- 
haps for  Adrian  and  for  her  children. 

And  if  the  doad  stirred  not,  or  if  the  spirit  of  the  lost 
rector  cnuid  not  appear,  those  wonderful  sounds  then 
borne  away  on  the  night  wind  which  had  now  increased 
almost  to  a  gale,  must  have  been  heard  by  some  passiug 
stranger  and  have  lured  him  to  the  spot.  Old  Stephen 
V  ho  sp.c  near  the  door,  saw  a  person  enter  and  stand  list- 
ening like  one  enchanted  by  the  mournful  cadences  and 
wonderful  melody  that  filled  the  place ;  his  features  could 
not  be  seen  in  the  gloom,  and  he  stood  aside,  as  if  he  did 
not  wish  to  be  recognized  by  any  one  present. 

Before  the  requiem  was  ended,  and  during  a  pause  iu 
the  musical  composition,  the  gale  was  heard  at  its  height, 
the  old  building  seemed  to  tremble,  and  the  hanging  ivy 
was  swept  against  the  gothio  windows.  There  was  anothei 
paube,  and  during  the  interval  the  sound  of  a  distant  guD 
was  heard  on  the  Bay— terrible  signal  so  near  the  mid- 
night hour!  A  ship  in  distress!  T^^ere,  that  dreadful 
boom  again,  and  the  stranger,  who  seemed  to  understand 


le  had 
build- 

}d  hoi 
strains 
ikill  as 
t  came 
d  then 
}  heart 
is,  and 
ire  har- 
angela 
10  grey 
able  to 
(till  the 
rhen  he 
known 
darkest 
An  per- 

,he  lost 
Is  then 
creased 
passing 
Jtephen 
md  list- 
ces  and 
}3  could 
E  he  did 

lause  in 
height, 
;ing  ivy 
anothei 
ant  gun 
he  mid- 
ireadt'nl 
erstand 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


337 


the  fearful  meaning,  rushed  out  at  once  into  the  storm. 

On  a  particular  headland,  overlooking  Pendell  Bay,  a 
number  of  persons  had  hurriedly  collected.  They  had 
heard  the  distant  guns,  and  people  who  reside  near  a 
dangerous  coast  can  readily  understand  their  appalling 
significance.  The  scene  before  them  was  terrific.  Tho 
towering  billows,  as  if  madly  bent  on  destruction,  rushed 
wildly  upwards  as  if  determined  to  blot  out  at  once  tho 
only  star  that  dared  for  a  moment  to  appear  above  tho 
whirling  demon-clouds  of  the  desolate  sky.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  league  among  the  terrible  forces  of  the  storm  king 
—among  the  black  monsters  of  the  air  and  the  f rantio 
waves  of  the  sea,  led  on  by  tempest  or  hurricane  to  rend 
the  heavens  and  to  uproot  the  foundations  of  the  earth, 
and  at  the  moment  the  fearful  might  imagine  that  no  con- 
trolling power  could  ever  again  sweep  away  the  hideous 
clouds  from  on  high,  or  curb  the  infernal  revelry  of  the 
deep,  or  silence  the  continued  roar  of  the  tumultuous 
waters. 

What  appeared  to  be  a  large  ship,  from  her  many  lights 
which  could  now  and  then  be  seen,  was  yet  far  out,  but 
from  her  drifting  course  was  evidently  unmanageable  and 
fast  heading  towards  the  rocks.  On  she  came,  heedless 
as  a  maniac ;  on  she  came  in  the  horrid  uproar  of  the  ele- 
ments—recklessly onwara ;  on  before  the  gale— on,  on,  on, 
rushing  and  bounding  frantically  onward,  as  if  eager  to 
appease  the  ocean  fiend  by  her  sacrifice  or  self-destruction. 

Most  of  those  now  assembled  had  met  here,  probably 
more  out  of  eager  curiosity  to  witness  a  disaster  than,  on 
such  a  night,  to  run  a  great  risk  by  attempting  to  pre- 
vent it. 

A  few  of  a  certain  class  who  had  often  seen  ships  strand- 
ed or  wrecked,  now  stole  away  from  the  others  and  lurk- 
ing hero  and  there  by  projections  on  the  sides  of  the  cliff, 
pre[.ared  to  wait  for  hours,  and  to  watch  like  vultures  for 
the  catastrophe ;  to  wait  for  what  the  sea  might  cast  up— 
for  either  jetsam  or  flotsam— ready,  in  this  Christian  land, 
to  cut  open  a  bale  of  silk,  breach  a  cask  of  rum,  or  to 


ts 


'^nm 

ar  : 

aiii' 

,41^'' 

uktt%     ] 

I    >        I 


m 


338 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


I)lunder  the  bruised  and  battered  body  of  a  dead  sailor. 
In  the  midst  of  the  principal  group  who  stood  together, 
two  o^  three  persons  held  great  torches  which  threw  u 
lurid  and  fitful  light  on  the  terrible  scene  before  them, 
and  while  all  seemed  to  be  irresolute,  one  who  was  a  kind 
of  itinerant  preacher  stepped  a  little  aside  and  with  sol- 
emn but  stentorian  voice  proposed  prayer.  He  said,  that, 
as  those  now  far  out  on  the  deep  among  rocks  and  quick- 
sands were  evidently  beyond  all  human  aid,  all  present 
should  ask  the  God  of  the  storm  and  the  tempest  to  como 
to  their  deliverance. 

"Stay!  no  prayer  now,"  cried  a  woman  who  hurried  in 
among  them  in  an  excited  manner,  "try  to  deliver  the ui 
first  yourselves,  and  let  God  help  them  al'terwards ;  and 
you," said  she,  addressing  the  preacher,  "should  show  a 
good  example,  if  you  have  faith  that  He  who  is  said  to 
have  power  to  still  the  winds  and  the  waves,  will  come  to 
their  assistance. " 

Not  one  yet  moved  at  the  bidding  of  her  who  had  just 
spoken,  but  the  preacher  replied:  "I  have  faith,  but  it 
may  be  for  a  wise  purpose  that  this  thing  is  to  happen ; 
should  Providence,  in  His  mysterious  designs,  bring  this 
disaster  on  some— for  nothing  can  take  place  without  His 
consent— He  will  undoubtedly  send  blessings  in  abund- 
ance to  others." 

"  Oh!  cowardly  prophet  of  evil!  "  retorted  the  woman, 
Btill  excited,  "if  your  God  is  all  powerful,  what  wise  or 
mysterious  purpose  can  there  be  in  a  mandate  to  bring 
misery  and  destruction  on  human  beings  ?  Has  He  at  this 
time  changed  His  nature  and  become  a  demon,  in  order 
to  prove  His  benevolence  and  to  send  blessings  on  others  ? 
Has  He  just  issued  His  dread  command  to  the  elements  to 
go  on  and  destroy?  Has  He  thus  said  to  them  in  His 
fury:  'Awake,  wild  tempest  of  the  night,  and  swell  thy 
horrid  throat  in  shrieks  of  frenzy  1  Blot  out  each  linger- 
ing star,  and  wrap  the  heavens  in  gloom,  and  let  thy  spec- 
tral clouds  rush  on  in  tumult  through  the  maddened  air! 
Let  the  dark  forest  crash  beneath  thy  tread;  lettremb- 


'i' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


330 


ling  hills  in  fear  appeal,  and  moaning  peaks  and  moun- 
tains cower  at  thy  roar  I  Startle  thy  mighty  giants  of  the 
deep,  and  lash  them  onward  in  their  furious  course !  O'er- 
whelm  great  ships  and  feed  thy  hungry  billows  with  the 
dead,  and  let  thy  black  destruction  be  complete  by  gulph- 
ing  down  alike  in  turbulent  waves  the  virtuous  and  the 
vile.'" 

"  Think  you,  you  praying  coward,"  continued  she,  still 
addressing  the  preacher,  "  that  your  God  is  so  like  a  fiend 
as  to  issue  such  a  command,  and  if  He  has,  have  you  the 
presumption  to  believe  that  your  shouting  or  beseeching 
will  induce  Him  to  counteract  it?  Fooll  you  belie  the 
Great  Maker  I  If  you  wish  to  serve  Him  truly  now,  keep 
your  supplications  for  another  time,  and  go  and  make  an 
effort  to  assist  His  creatures  in  distress ! " 

The  preacher  made  no  reply.  The  men  around  looked 
at  the  woman —it  was  old  Zingari  that  spoke.  She  was 
well  known  to  most  present,  and  with  some  her  words 
and  wierd  appearance  at  the  time  and  place  seemed  to 
have  produced  the  desired  effect.  A  few  men  hurried 
away  to  render  any  assistance  they  could,  but  the  preach- 
er and  a  few  others  remained  still  fearful  or  undecided, 
or  perhaps  they  were  still  anxious  to  put  the  prayer  of 
fiiith  to  the  test  in  the  hope  that  One  would  come  with 
mighty  power,  and  say  to  the  storm :  "Peace,  be  still." 

By  this  time  the  ship  had  swept  past  the  lighthouse  and 
was  rapidly  approaching  a  dangerous  reef  within  the  bay. 
She  appeared  to  be  a  large  Indiaman,  and  only  one  torn, 
fluttering  sail  could  be  seen,  and  one  of  her  shattered 
musts  hung  over  the  side,  rendering  it  still  more  impossi- 
ble to  change  her  course.  Those  on  board  appeared  to 
exhibit  the  greatest  coolness  and  daring  in  this  extremity, 
but  in  spite  of  all  efforts  the  ship  seemed  destined  for 
<lestruction,  and  was  borne  swiftly  onwards  until  at  last 
she  crashed  upon  the  rocks  about  a  hundred  yards  from 
the  shore. 

Then  indeed  it  was  that  gallant  men  were  seen  rushing 
along  the  beach  as  if  determined  to  run  every  risk  in  order 


:m 


1 

i 

i 

'■  »j 

1 

:'M 

■:i     * 

,.  t 

\  iii;  S 

■! 

;i*  n 

1 

■       1' 

V\ 

9  ?t' 


^m 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


i%h 


I  it  ill  iJ 


w 


5*  mn  I,, 


to  rescue  those  on  board  the  doomed  vessel  from  the  I  or- 
rible  fate  that  seemed  to  await  them.  A  life-boat  and  one 
or  two  other  boats  were  quickly  manned  and  sent  out,  bi;t 
owing  to  some  mismanagement  or  to  the  heavy,  danger- 
0U3  sea  that  had  to  be  encountered,  the  boats  were  speed- 
ily dashed  back,  and  it  was  with  great  difficulty  that  some 
of  the  adventurous  men  were  saved  from  a  watery  grave. 
After  another  and  another  effort  to  get  off  the  boats,  it 
was  found  impossible  to  get  outside  the  towering  waves 
that  rushed  far  up  on  the  shore  with  terrific  violence. 
Two  of  the  ordinary  boats  had  been  battered  to  pieces, 
and  most  of  their  crews  so  severely  injured  as  to  render 
them  incapable  of  attempting  any  further  assistance.  At 
this  time,  when  many  began  to  despair  of  being  able  to 
rescue  a  single  soul,  one  who  appeared  to  be  thoroughly 
resolute  and  undaunted,  got  a  few  men  together  and  after 
much  trouble  righted  one  of  the  boats  and  had  it  drawn 
some  distance  and  launched  again  at  a  point  where  the 
direct  rush  of  the  waves  was  diverted  fro  a  the  beach  by  a 
ledge  that  ran  out  some  distance.  He  then  hastily  choso 
four  stout  sea-faring  men  and  entered  the  boat  with  thoni, 
and  just  as  they  had  pushed  off,  a  woman  muffled  lu^ 
sprang  into  it,  and  at  once  ooized  the  helm  just  as  it  was 
about  to  be  taken  by  another.  Whether  the  men  were 
surprised  at  her  daring  or  wished  to  get  rid  of  her  as  an 
incumbrance,  they  discovered  before  they  had  procecdoil 
many  yard?,  that  she  was  no  novice  in  the  situation,  and 
that  from  her  cool  and  fearless  manner,  and  the  skilful 
way  in  which  she  headed  the  boat  in  the  plunging  waters 
that  she  was  likely  to  be  of  very  great  assistance  to  them 
in  their  perilous  course.  As  the  night  was  dark  the  person 
who  was  in  command,  and  who  served  as  a  look  out,  liad 
to  kneel  in  the  bow  and  to  hold  firmly  on  by  the  sides  of 
the  boat ;  the  stout  men  labored  hard,  and  yet  it  was  wiHi 
the  greatest  difflculty  they  could  make  any  progress. 
Many  who  watched  them  from  the  headland  feared  wIkmi 
they  disappeared  at  times  that  they  were  engulphed  in  ilv> 
waves,  while  others  trembling  with  apprehension  occa 


<'*',i 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


341 


he  t  er- 
,iid  one 
>ut,  bi:t 
lanj^'er- 
( speed- 
it  sonic 
r  grave. 
)oats,  it 
!  waves 
Lolencc. 
pieces, 
>  render 
ice.    At 
able  to 
roughly 
nd  after 
it  drawn 
tiere  the 
ach  by  a 
ly  choHO 
ththeni, 
ffled  up 
as  it  was 
en  were 
or  as  an 
:oceedo<l 
ion,  an<l 
e  skilful 
g  waters 
to  them 
e  person 
out,  ha«l 
sides  of 
was  witl\ 
iroj?r(v^s. 
■ed  when 
ed  in  tlv^ 
on  occa- 


sionally turned  aside  as  if  unable  to  witness  a  fresh  calam- 
ity ;  and  in  a  short  time  afterward,  when  the  boat  had 
become  hidden  in  the  darkness,  very  few  present  expect- 
ed to  see  it  ever  return. 

More  than  an  hour  had  now  passed,  all  on  shore  were 
in  a  state  of  dreadful  uncertainty,  and  those  on  board  the 
doomed  ship  expected  every  moment  it  would  go  to  pieces, 
and  that  they  should  be  hurled  among  the  breakers.  As  it 
was,  almost  all  on  the  ship  had  to  cling  to  the  rigging,  for 
the  vessel  had  struck  so  hard  that  it  remained  immovable 
as  if  wedged  between  monstrous  rocks,  and  at  intervals 
the  sea  dashed  against  it  and  swept  its  entire  length  of 
deck  with  great  impetuosity. 

At  the  very  moment  when  hope  had  almost  left  every 
breast,  a  loud  report  was  heard,  a  curving  light  was  seen 
to  rush  through  the  air,  from  the  shore  to  the  ship ;  a  line 
had  reached  it,  a  stout  cable  was  with  some  difficulty 
hauled  on  board,  and  connection  with  the  land  at  last  es- 
tablished, through  which  nearly  all  on  board  were  safely 
brought  to  shore. 

However,  before  an  individual  was  saved  that  night  by 
the  chance  means  now  afforded  by  the  cable,  the  joy 
and  surprise  of  all  was  heard  in  one  wild  exclamation 
when  the  struggling  boat,  yet  in  great  danger,  was  seen 
returning.  The  brave  woman  was  still  at  the  helm,  every 
man  was  still  in  his  place,  and  two  or  three  women  and  as 
many  children,  taken  from  the  wreck,  were  seen  crouched 
down  among  them.  Loud  shouts  of  delight  were  again 
heard  even  above  the  storm ;  a  number  of  persons  rushed 
down  and  onward  even  into  the  surf  to  receive  those  who 
luid  so  miraculously  escaped ;  several  torches  gave  suffi- 
cient light  to  see  all  that  were  in  the  boat;  and  when  it 
was  again  dashed  far  up  on  the  sloping  beach,  he  who  had 
held  command  was  the  first  to  step  ashore  drenched  and 
bareheaded,  the  others  soon  followed,  and  while  he  was 
assisting  out  the  heroine  who  had  so  skillfully  kept  the 
helm  and  guided  them  out  and  back  on  their  perilous  way, 
t  lie  covering  tell  from  her  head  and  revealed  the  features 


1    '.     ■! 


342 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


of  her  whom  he  had  seen  in  the  mirror— the  feature  ol 
the  woman  of  his  dreams— the  now  pale  but  expressive 
face  of  Esther  Meade!  But  it  was  not  long  pale,  for 
quickly,  even  in  the  dim,  flickering  light,  a  blush  could  be 
seen  to  suffuse  her  countenance  when  she  gazed  in  return 
upon  the  manly  and  noble  features  of  John  Valiant. 

Just  then  he  looked  around,  as  if  to  glance  at  those 
whom  he  had  helped  to  rescue,  his  eyes  became  fixed  upon 
a  dark  haired  handsome  Asiatic  woman  who  held  a  trem- 
bling boy  by  the  hand.  As  soon  as  she  observed  him  her 
gaze  grew  intense,  she  grasped  his  hand  and  muttered 
some  words  of  surprise  in  a  foreign  tongue.  '*  Good  God ! 
is  it  Ranee?" 

"Yes,"  replied  she,  **  it  is  Ranee ;  you  have  saved  her 
life— you  have  saved  us  both,"  and  then  pointing  to  the 
boy  at  her  side  she  said :  "  Yes,  I  am  Ranee ;  and  this  is 
Edgar  your  lost  soni " 


^i-iiN' 


■■^: 


CHAPTER   XXX. 


A  LONG  J3UBNEY, 


TT  was  three  days  after  the  death  of  the  rector  of  Pen- 
•*•    dell  before  the  idea  occurred  to  any  one  of  suggesting 
to  the   curate,  that  he  might  do  himself  a  service  by 
calling  on  the  bishop,  to  solicit  his  recommendation  to 
whoever  might  become  the  new  incumbent  of  the  parish. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Meade,  in  his  simplicity,  had  never  given 
the  matter  a  thought.    He  had  been  curate  of  Pendell  for 
more  than  thirty  years,  and  had,  as  he  fancied,  served 
acceptably  under  different  rectors  in  that  parish.    No  one 
had  ever  uttered  the  least  complaint  against  him ;  no  one 
had  ever  accused  him  of  unfaithfulness,  and,  though  liv- 
ing in  an  age  of  wavering  opinions,  and  even  of  positive 
doubt  and  disbelief,  yet,  like  many  other  skeptical  priests, 
he  had  never  allowed  his  private  notions  respecting  inspi- 
ration, or  prophecy,  or  miracles  to  interfere  with  his 
duties,  and  had  therefore  never  been  called  to  an  account 
by  any  clerical  superior,  for  teaching  false  doctrines,  her- 
esy, or  schism.    What  then  had  he  to  fear  ?    He  was,  in 
his  own  opinion,  still  able  to  perform  the  duties  of  curate ; 
he  had  never  imagined  that  any  one  would  accuse  him  of 
being  too  old,  and,  under  these  circumstances,  he  felt 
quite  confident— quite  secure  of  his  position— and  could  not 
realize  that,  after  his  long  services,  he  could  be  turned 
adrift  to  make  way  for  a  stranger. 

Having  listened  to  what  his  friends  had  to  say,  and 
having  tried  to  convince  them  that  their  distrust  was 


■f 

1  ;*| 


!    M 


i'  ( 


'II 1 


i4  '<i'  r 


<ttf. 


H  1 


In 


344 


THTiJ  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH, 


altogothor  groundless,  he  consented  that  they  should 
draw  up  a  memorial  in  his  behalf  to  the  bishop,  and  get 
it  signed ;  and  he  did  this,  as  he  did  many  other  things, 
more  to  gratify  his  anxious  well-wishers,  than  because  ho 
considered  such  a  proceeding  necessary.  In  every  matter, 
however,  of  any  importance,  relating  to  the  welfare  of 
those  depending  on  him,  he  was  sure  to  consult  his  daugh- 
ter ;  but  as  she  was  very  much  indisposed  at  the  time,  he 
said  but  little  to  her  on  the  subject,  yet  he  said  sufiQcient 
to  cause  her  to  urge  him  to  comply  with  the  desire  of  his 
parishioners ;  for  from  what  she  had  once  heard  the  lato 
rector  say,  she  well  knew  that  he  would  have  had  very 
little  consideration  for  her  father,  who  was  retained  as 
curate  merely  as  a  favor,  or  rather  out  of  regard  for  her; 
and  that  as  a  new  rector  might  be  disposed  to  make  a 
change,  yet  though  the  bishop  might  not  care  to  interfere 
it  was  barely  possible  he  might  be  induced  to  recommend 
her  father  were  he  to  go  himself  and  present  the  mo^ 
morial. 

Storkchester  was  forty  miles  from  Pendell ;  forty  miles 
and  no  railroad  connection  between  these  places.  What 
a  distance  in  the  imagination  of  the  curate!  Mr.  Meado 
was  no  traveler;  he  had  never  seen  a  foreign  city,  and 
during  many  years  had  seldom  gone  further  than  eight 
or  ten  miles  from  his  own  house,  unless  it  were  on  occa- 
sions when  he  had  to  join  with  the  clergy  of  other  parishes 
as  a  kind  of  escort  to  the  bishop,  while  on  his  visitations 
through  certain  parts  of  the  diocese.  The  great  distance 
to  Storkchester  was  a  perplexity  to  poor  Mr.  Meade. 
There  was  the  regular  stage,  to  be  sure,  he  could  go  by 
that,  but  it  did  not  pass  until  nearly  noon,  and  then  if  the 
roads  should  be  heavy,  he  would  be  dropped  at  a  stranpfo 
place  long  after  midnight.  What  an  unpleasant  reflection ! 
And  yet  there  was  something  worse  than  all  this— yes, 
actually  worse— there  was  the  expense;  nearly  half  a 
guinea  for  an  inside  passenger,  and  then  to  be  crowded, 
and  crushed,  and  knocked  about  to  make  more  room  for 
babies  and  bandboxes.    What  food  for  doleful  consid- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


345 


should 
•ind  get 
things, 
ause  ho 
matter, 
Ifare  of 

daugh- 
;ime,  he 
ifllcient 
e  of  his 
the  late 
ad  very 
i,ined  as 
for  her ; 

make  a 
nterfero 
)mraenfl 
the  me«- 

ty  miles 
What 
Meado 
ity,  and 
an  eight 
on  occa- 
parishes 
sitations 
distance 
Meade. 
Id  go  by 
en  if  the 
stran^o 
flection ! 
lis— yes, 
half  a 
rowded, 
'oom  for 
consid- 


eration!  A  place  on  the  outside  would  not,  of  course, 
cost  so  much,  but  just  think,  at  his  time  of  life,  of  having 
to  cling  to  the  seat  alongside  of  the  driver,  even  if  he  were 
so  fortunate  as  to  secure  that  position ;  and  to  have  the 
cold  wind,  or  perhaps  the  rain  in  his  face,  or  finding  a 
free  passage  through  his  wrappings  and  his  thin  surtout, 
caused  him  to  shudder;  and,  worse  still,  what  would  it  be 
were  he  obliged  to  try  and  climb  and  find  his  way  to  the 
top  of  the  coach,  and,  while  in  that  dangerous  spot,  to  be 
stowed  away  among  rollicking  sailors,  and  others  as  bad, 
who  might  have  no  rcgjird  for  his  fear  or  trembling,  and 
only  laugh  at  his  efforts  to  hold  on  to  his  rickety  elevation ; 
and  be  also  compelled  to  listen  to  a  round  of  uproarious 
songs,  and  a  long  love  ditty  by  some  drunken  soldier 
returning  on  his  furlou.;h,  and  a  chorus  from  all;  and 
wild  shoutings  upon  their  arrival  at  every  tavern  or  stop- 
ping place.  The  idea  of  such  an  experience  harassed 
him  very  much;  he  would  have  willingly  given  up  all 
uolion  of  leaving  home,  if  he  could  only  convince  his 
friends  that  his  case  was  not  urgent.  Alas!  poor  man, 
what  was  he  to  do  ? 

In  this  extremity,  a  neighbor  came  to  his  assistance, 
whoso  kind  offer  relieved  him  in  a  measure  from  the  per^^. 
plexed  condition  in  which  he  had  been  since  he  had  com- 
menced to  brood  over  troubles  that  he  fancied  must  be 
incident  to  so  long  a  journey.  This  good  parishioner  had 
business  to  transact  in  a  little  mirket  town  within  ten 
miles  of  Storkchester,  and  he  would  be  happy  to  drive  his 
Reverence  that  far ;  and  afterwards  a  chance  might  offer 
whereby  he  could  get  the  remainder  of -the  way  without 
much  or  any  difficulty.  In  addition  to  this,  others  of  his 
friends,  under  the  impression  tht*t  his  funds  were  rather 
limited,  got  up  a  little  sum  for  him,  quite  sufficient  to 
meet  his  expenses,  and  he  was  spared  reflections  of  a 
peculiar  kind  by  this  timely  benevolence. 

As  it  was,  therefore,  destined  that  he  should  leave  his 
home,  great  preparations  were  made.  Old  Sarah  Afton 
had  called  to  see  Miss  Meade,  and  suggested  what  to  get 


U* 


ij 


346 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


i  ' 


Ill ) 


ready,  and  what  might  be  necessary  to  pack  up  for  his 
Reverence.  A  little  trunk  was  filled,  and  the  following  is 
a  fair  inventory  of  most  of  its  contents :  His  best  suit, 
which,  by  good  care,  had  been  kept  in  a  very  tolerable 
state  of  perservatioii  for  the  last  ten  years.  Think  of  it, 
he  might  be  asked  to  dine  with  his  lordsliip  and  a  select 
comx)any  of  divines,  and  the  curate  of  Pendell  must,  of 
course,  appear  to  advantage;  his  finest  shirt,  starched 
and  ironed  to  perfection,  had  ever  so  many  wrappings  to 
keep  it  spotless ;  there  were  cravats,  handkerchiefs,  and 
bands,  and  a  pair  of  gloves  that  a  rich  bridegroom  had 
once  presented  to  him,  that  he  had  not  worn  for — oh,  ever 
80  long  a  time,  all  packed  most  carefully;  then  alonu- 
with  these,  by  the  wise  forethought  of  Sarah,  a  piece  of 
nice  cake  was  stowed  away,  and  a  small  bottle  of  a  peculiar 
cordial  was  snugly  hidden,  in  case  the  curate,  while  in  a 
strange  place,  might  have  an  attack  of  asthma,  or  rheu- 
matism, or  cholera;  and  by  the  recommendation  of  Miss 
Meade,  half  a  dozen  of  her  father's  best  sermons  were  put 
in— not  any  of  the  second-hand  productions  which  could 
be  purchased  for  about  a  shilling  apiece,  but  pious  dis- 
courses which  she  had  helped  him  to  write— he  might  bo 
detained  over  Sunday,  and  requested  to  preach  in  tlie 
cathedral,  and  it  would  be  well  to  let  a  fashionable  con- 
gregation hear,  if  for  once  in  their  lives,  plain  words 
which  might  humble  the  proud,  and  teach  the  wealthy 
how  to  serve  God  by  exhibiting  a  more  humane  regard  for 
such  of  His  distressed  creatures  as  needed  assistance. 

It  was  long  beyond  the  curate's  hour  for  retiring  wh^n 
the  little  trunk  was  at  last  packed,  locked,  and  labelled ; 
he  looked  at  it  complacently  after  the  heavy  task  was 
finished,  and  put  it  almost  tenderly  aside  in  a  corner  of 
the  room ;  and  just  before  he  extinguished  his  li&ht  and 
got  into  bed,  he  went  and  again  examined  the  straps  and 
the  lock  of  that  which  contained  his  trifling  bulk  of  bair- 
gage  in  order  to  be  satisfied  that  all  was  secure.  An 
early  start  in  the  morning  was  necessary,  and  he  must  rise 
betimes  so  ab  to  cause  no  delay. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


347 


But  poor  Mr.  Meade  could  get  no  sleep— not  a  wink ; 
his  brain  was,  as  it  were,  in  a  state  of  commotion ;  he  fan- 
cied himself  already  traveling  o'^'^r  hill  and  dale  leavinj? 
far  behind  him  those  he  knew,  and  entering  a  land  of 
strangers.  And  then  when  he  got  into  the  crowded  city, 
how  would  he  address  his  lordship ;  whom  would  he  meet, 
and  to  whom  would  he  be  introduced  in  the  episcopal  resi- 
dence ;  and  what  would  be  his  feelings  were  he  requested 
to  enter  the  richly  cushioned  pulpit  of  the  cathedral— a 
thing  not  unlikely— and  stand  before  a  city  congregation 
as  a  preacher— his  heart  sunk  at  the  bare  idea!  At  the 
moment  he  would  have  most  willingly  given  up  all  notion 
of  leaving  home,  and  relinquish  a  claim  to  a  bishopric, 
could  he  only  prevail  upon  his  importunate  well-wishers 
to  let  him  remain. 

No  sleep  for  him  yet!  Would  his  good  clothes  be 
creased  or  injured  in  that  trunk— his  slippers  had  been 
forgotten,  he  must  not  leave  them  behind,  he  might  be 
able  to  put  them  in  his  hat,  or  in  his  great  coat  pocket— 
Ah,  but  not  in  his  hat,  he  must  wear  his  best  one  all  the 
way— what  a  pity !  he  had  only  worn  it  on  very  particular 
occasions,  and  had  kept  it  as  smooth  and  nearly  as  new  as 
when  Esther  made  him  a  present  of  it  seven  years  ago 
last  Christmas,  and  now  it  might  get  soiled  on  the  road  by 
dust  or  by  rain  even  though  he  had  hali-a-dozon  handker- 
chiefs tied  around  it.  And  those  creaking  boots  were 
provoking ;  he  had  actually  stamped  in  them  all  the  way 
to  and  from  church,  and  out  around  the  lawn  every  Sun- 
day for  the  last  twelve  months,  still  they  creaked  as  bad 
as  ever— he  hated  creakers— he  would  like  to  pass  through 
the  world  quietly,  without  attracting-  much  notice,  but 
how  was  it  possible  for  him  to  do  so  with  such  boots ;  the 
congregation  were  sure  to  turn  their  heads  when  he  walk- 
ed—or creaked— up  the  aisle,  g,nd  if  he  had  to  preach  in 
the  great  church  at  Storkchester,  wouldn't  they  do  the 
same.    Poor,  poor,  troubled  curate ! 

At  last  he  slept ;  it  could  not  fairly  be  called  sleep ;  for 
he  was  as  yet  unable  to  give  one  genuine  snore-'his 


~ 

IP 

1 

IB 

;;l;i 

1 

^-il 


S48 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


dreams  kept  him  almost  awake.  He  had  got  to  Stork- 
chester:  he  had  a  pleasing  interview  with  the  bishop,  and 
v»'as  invited  to  dine  at  his  lordship's  table ;  was  introduccMl 
to  ever  so  many  divines  who  were  well  known  to  ho 
equally  skilful  in  the  selection  of  a  text  or  a  bottle  of 
wine,  as  occasion  required ;  was  not  asked  to  preach  in 
the  cathedral ;  his  clothes  had  become  strangely  renova- 
ted, his  hat  was  glistening,  and  his  boots  were  as  polished 
yet  as  mute  as  a  court  chaplain  ;  and,  best  of  all,  he  had 
just  returned  home  with  the  living  in  his  pocket,  and  was 
being  greeted  by  his  friends  as  David  Meade,  D.  D.,  rector 
of  Pendell. 

Alas!  who  would  like  to  awake  from  such  a  dream? 
Yet  it  was  all  but  a  dream,  and  the  good  old  curate  had  to 
turn  his  eyes  once  more  from  the  mirage  to  the  desert. 
He  awoke  after  his  uncertain  slumbers  just  at  the  grey 
dawn,  called  the  servant  to  get  him  something  to  eat  be- 
fore he  started  away,  but  he  found  that  his  breakfast  had 
been  already  prepared.  The  morning  was  gloomy ;  there 
was  a  thick  mist  and  he  began  to  think  of  his  hat.  On  the 
way  he  would  most  certainly  get  out  once  in  a  while  and 
tramp  and  stamp  on  the  wet  grass  by  the  road  side  in  or- 
der if  possible  fr  mellow  the  hateful,  discordant  notes  of 
his  boots.  There,  the  trunk  was  all  safe,  straps  and  lock 
all  right ;  he  would  not  open  it  again  until  he  got  to  Stork- 
chester,  no  matter  what  might  have  been  forgotten.  His 
daughter,  though  poorly,  had  got  up  before  day  and  had 
seen  to  everything  herself.  What  a  breakfast  he  had ;  she 
looked  wistfully  at  her  affectionate  old  father  as  he  sat 
eating  alone  at  the  little  round  table— a  nice  breakfast, 
but  she  could  not  touch  anything— eggs,  and  toast,  and 
coffee,  and  a  tender  piece  of  beefsteak,  and  some  littlo 
delicacies  to  tempt  bis  appetite.  Esther  had  got  all  these 
things  spread  before  him,  he  would  require  a  good  meal 
before  he  started,  and  he  ate  more  than  he  needed  to 
please  her.  Breakfast  was  scarcely  over  when  a  little  two 
wheeled  box,  or  cart,  was  seen  before  the  gate— a  two 
wheeled  vehicle  and  an  old  grey  horse ;  a  curious  seat  for 


m 


THE  HEATBENS  OP  THE  DEATH. 


349 


two,  and  a  place  behind  for  the  little  trunk.  What  care- 
ful muffling  ho  had.  Esther's  heaviest  shawl  across  his 
shoulders  and  breast,  and  she  took  such  a  time  to  fix  and 
tuck,  as  if  to  hold  him  as  long  as  possible,  unwilling  at 
last  to  let  him  go. 

•'Why,  my  dear,  you  will  positively  smother  me,"  said 
he  with  the  faintest  attempt  to  simulate  anger  in  tone  and 
manner,  evidently  desirious  of  overwhelming  a  far  differ- 
ent feeling.  He  did  not  look  her  in  the  face,  his  eyes  were 
turned  in  a  different  direction ;  he  was  going  a  far  journey, 
an  unusual  event  in  his  life,  and  he  looked  about  here  and 
there,  extremely  anxious  to  find  something  he  did  not 
want.  At  last  he  said :  *'  My  dear,  I  must  have  your  brown 
gingham  apron— a  handkerchief  will  be  too  small— to  tie 
around  this.  See,  if  it  continue  like  this  all  day  it  will  be 
ruined,"  and  he  took  off  his  hat  and  carefully  applied  his 
cuff  to  its  damp  surface."  Esther,  more  to  please  him 
than  to  satisfy  herself,  wound  something  more  suitable 
and  less  conspicuous  around  the  hat,  and  placed  it  on  his 
head. 

"If  it  is  fine,  you  know,  I  can  take  this  covering  off 
when  I  please.  Yes,  I  think  this  will  answer ;  and  now  be 
a  good  child  till  I  come  back."  These  last  few  words  of 
his  sentence  were  those  he  would  have  used  to  her  near 
twenty  years  before  that,  if  he  were  going  away  when  she 
was  a  little  girl ;  she  was  a  child  still  in  his  eyes,  and  to  him 
the  words  seemed  still  appropriate.  Then  having  taken 
a  hasty  leave,  he  hurrfed  out  of  the  house  in  a  kind  of 
defiant  manner,  and  took  his  seat  in  the  cart  by  the  side 
of  his  companion.  They  had  driven  but  a  little  distance, 
when  he  looked  back,  and  saw  Esther  waving  her  hand- 
kerchief from  an  upper  window.  They  drove  on,  and 
when  they  got  to  the  top  of  the  hill  he  turned  again.  Pen- 
dell  was  hidden  in  the  mist,  only  the  church  tower  could  be 
seen ;  his  eyes,  too,  must  have  been  misty,  for  he  could  see 
nothing  else  in  that  direction,  so  he  looked  the  other  way 
and  saw  the  long,  dreary  road  before  them,  and  resigned 
himself  to  his  fate. 


ti 


\l 


iT 


hi 

m 


;'c^ 


IPI; 


350 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


About  five  o'clock  that  evening  they  got  to  the  little 
market  town  or  village  of  Weyton,  and  put  up  at  a  small 
thatched  tavern  known  as  the  "Three  Swords,*' situated 
conspicuously  at  the  cross  roads  in  that  place,  where  a 
famous  battle  had  once  been  fought  between  Catholics 
and  Protestants.  They  had  come  so  far  without  any  diffi- 
culty;  the  curate's  appetite  bad  v/onderfuUy  improved  on 
the  road,  and  he  and  his  friend  enjoyed  the  homely  yot 
substantial  dinner  that  had  been  provided.  After  the 
meal  was  over  they  sat  and  chatted  by  the  fireside  for  an 
hour  or  longer;  the  landlord  was  good  natured  and  com- 
municative, and  told  them  all  about  the  place,  and  much 
about  the  great  events  that  had  occuriod  in  the  neighbor- 
hood during  the  last  three  hundred  years ;  many  of  theso 
so-called  "great  events  "  had  been  of  the  most  cruel  and 
bloody  character,  and  strange  as  it  then  might  seem,  all 
of  these  related  to  the  intrigues  of  inhuman  kings  and  to 
the  furious  strife  for  power  or  precedence  occurring  from 
time  to  time  among  Christian  sects.  Having  discussed 
these  and  other  matters,  Mr.  Meade  inquired  whether 
there  might  be  an  opportunity  of  getting  a  ride  in  the 
morning  as  far  as  Storkchester,  and  though  the  landlord 
said  in  reply  that  he  thought  no  such  chance  was  likely 
to  offer  before  the  regular  stage  time,  yet,  that  if  the  cur- 
ato  did  not  wish  to  travel  by  that  conveyance  and  get  late 
at  night  at  his  destination,  his  trunk  could  be  sent  ou 
before  him  by  the  stage,  and  in  the  morning  if  he  could  do 
no  better,  why  it  would  only  be  a  moderate  walk  of  ten 
miles;  and,  even  by  walking  only  two  miles  an  hour  he 
could  get  to  the  city  early  in  the  afternoon.  Upon  consid- 
eration Mr.  Meade  thought  it  best  to  be  guided  by  the 
opinion  of  his  host ;  the  stage  called  about  ten  o'clock  that 
night,  it  was  crowded,  but  as  drivers  generally  think  that 
there  is  always  room  for  another  package  or  another  pas- 
senger, the  trunk  was  stowed  away  somewhere  and  sent 
forward. 

The  curate  had  a  good  night's  rest,  a  good  breakfast  at 
an  early  hour  next  morning^  and  though  tlie  weather  wa;< 


tli 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  UEATU. 


8S1 


cold  and  rather  windy,  it  was  dry— his  hat  would  not  be 
injured— and  he  set  out  with  a  light  heart  for  the  city.  He 
rested  occasionally  by  the  way,  had  a  little  lunch,  admir- 
ed some  pleasant  places,  and  on  the  whole,  though  rather 
tired,  got  on  remarkably  well ;  and,  what  added  immensely 
to  his  satisfaction,  before  he  had  traveled  seven  miles,  his 
boots  had  entirely  ceased  creaking — no  more  bewildering 
music  from  these  instryments.  After  this,  he  got  a  ride 
for  over  two  miles  in  a  pedlar's  wagon,  and  then  'r^i  tut 
a  mile  further  to  go ;  but  here  he  met  with  a  poo  *  iiviircr 
soldier,  lately  discharged,  hobbling  along  and  03.i^iy^'<v;  a 
heavy  bundle,  he  tissisted  him  to  bear  this  to  town,  gave 
him  a  shilling  for  his  dinner,  and  by  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  he  got  to  the  inn  which  the  landlord  of  the 
Three  Swords  had  recommended ;  his  trunk  was  ttiere  safe 
and  sound,  he  opened  it  at  last,  everything  was  in  good 
order,  and  he  forthwith  changed  his  apparel,  and,  some- 
what disconcerted,  he  made  further  preparations  to  call 
on  the  bishop.  Feeling  now  fatigued,  he  rested  for  about 
an  hour,  and  then  having  partaken  of  a  little  refresh- 
ment, he  left  the  iilace  for  the  Episcopal  resiucjice. 

It  was  a  stately  building,  with  clusters  of  toweriug 
chimneys,  that  seemed  to  frown  down  upon  others  less 
plevated,  which  dared  to  look  up  at  the  same  heavens  as 
they  did.  An  aristocratic  structure,  with  heavy  cornices, 
iiad  great  bay  windows,  in  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
squar<^g  of  the  city.  The  polished  massive  dooi,  lying 
open,  was  approached  by  a  flight  of  marble  steps,  and  at 
the  foot  of  these  the  bishop's  carriage  was  in  waiting. 
How  fortunate !  his  lordship  must,  of  course,  be  at  home, 
and  he  would  be  able  to  see  him.  When  he  had  got  about 
half  way  up  the  ste^s,  a  stylish  looking  footman  appeared 
at  the  door,  and  just  a»  Mr.  Meade  glanced  into  the  long 
hall,  he  saw  the  bishop— who  must  have  seen  him— dart 
Eside  into  an  apartment,  leaving  abruptly  a  lady  and  othor 
persons  with  whom  he  had  been  convorsiiit;,  and  then  be- 
foro  he  had  got  to  th(^  top  of  the  steps,  the  great  door  was 
shunuied  to  in  his  face. 


111 


M  9i\ 


•  •- 

fral'ii  5 

i  ■■ 
1 

rm  ' 

( 

1  '''¥14. 

Ws.ir;  L 

i.  i 

\  • 

^m ! 

1    ; 

r!   ! 


I  • 


352 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


n    j: 


Mr.  Meade  halted  in  surprise.  That  man,  thought  he, 
must  have  known  me,  why  did  he  slam  the  door  to  when 
he  saw  me  coming ;  the  bishop  must  have  seen  me,  strange 
that  he  should  so  suddenly  go  off  without  giving  me  a 
single  nod  of  recognition ;  still,  he  is  inside,  the  bishop  is 
here,  and  I  shall  ask  to  see  him ;  I  may  perhaps  have  been 
mistaken  by  him  for  some  other  person.  Eespectablc 
looking  applicants  for  relief  are,  no  doubt,  a  heavy  tax  on 
his  lordship's  scanty  resources.  He  rang  the  bell.  After 
a  few  moments  of  suspense,  the  same  footman  cautiously 
opened  the  door— only  sufficiently  wide  to  put  out  his 
head:  "His  lordship  is  engaged,  and  cannot  be  seen  to- 
day," tartly  replied  the  man  to  Mr.  Meade's  inquiry. 

"  I  have  come  a  very  long  distance  and  would  like  to 
see  the  bishop  on  a  very  important  matter.  Will  you  be 
good  enough  to  give  him  my  name  ?  "  and  he  handed  the 
person  one  of  the  cards  upon  which  his  daughter  had  so 
neatly  written  his  address. 

"  His  lordship,  I  tell  you,  cannot  be  seen  to-day,  he  will 
see  no  one ;  he  is  engaged,"  said  the  stern  footman,  reluct- 
antly taking  the  card,  and  quick  as  ho  drew  in  his  head 
the  door  was  aqain  slammed.  The  poor  curate  was  bewil- 
dered. "What  can  all  this  mean  ?  "  muttered  he  to  him- 
self, and  while  he  stood  there  before  the  great  man's  gate 
in  the  chilly  wind,  and  now  holding  the  memorial  which 
so  many  considered  would  have  such  weight  with  the 
bishop,  his  heart  began  to  fail  him ;  again  he  muttered ; 
"  What  can  all  this  mean ;  besides  the  bishop  must  have 
seen  and  recognized  me." 

The  door  ^11  remained  closed,  he  looked  about  undo 
cided  what  to  do;  would  ho  ring  again?  He  was  on  the 
point  of  doing  so  when  he  hoard  the  bolt  drawn,  and  the 
bishop's  secretary  made  his  appearance. 

"Ah,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Meade!  Am  so  sorry,  jes,  sottv, 
quite  so,  but  the  fact  is  his  lordship  is — is  really  in  lis- 
I)osed;  yes  indisposed ;  his  physicians  say  so.  Must  trans- 
act no  business;  must  see  nobotly.  WsiP  just  goinii  out 
for  an  airing  when  y  u  csalied ,  has  b-en  ordered  to  do  so. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


353 


Rogret  this  very  much  Rev.  sir— am  sure  you  will  excuse 
this,  and  some  other  time  you  can— ^ 

The  flippant  secretary  was  emi^hatic,  he  did  not  finish 
the  sentence,  he  left  the  curate  to  supply  the  necessary 
porsonal  pronouns,  as  well  as  to  supply  other  words 
wanting ;  he  spoke  rapidly,  bowed  repeatedly  to  the  curate 
in  the  most  complaisant  manner,  and  rubbed  his  hands 
as  if  the  raw  air  had  already  admonished  him  to  retreat. 

]\Ir.  Meade  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  in  astonish- 
ment, he  saw  that  the  secretary,  though  very  polite, 
was  unswerving;  the  chilling  words,  and  the  still  more 
chilling  reception,  if  reception  it  could  be  called  had 
already  had  their  due  effect,  and  the  poor  curate,  before 
he  withdrew,  thought  he  would  make  one  more  effort,  and 
meekly  said: 

"  I  regret  to  hear  of  his  lordship's  indisposition ;  will 
you  be  so  good  as  to  place  this  memorial  in  his  hands,  it 
may  be  of  importance  to  me  that  he  should  see  it  at  once. 
I  shall  leave  for  home  early  to-morrow,  and  would  be  glad 
to  have  his  lordshir*  favor  me  with  a  reply  in  the  mean- 
time." 

The  polite  secretary  again  bowed  and  took  the  paper ; 
he  was  evidently  glad  to  get  rid  of  the  suppliant  curate  on 
terms  so  easy,  and  he  assured  him  in  the  same  gracious 
manner,  thai,  if  at  all  ijossible,  he  would  have  the  docu- 
mont  presrnted,  and  if  the  bishop  were  able  to  give  it  his 
consideralion,  he  hoped  to  have  the  pleasure  of  forward- 
ing a  satisfactory  answer. 

With  the  mos:  painful  feelings  of  disappointment,  the 
old  man  turned  away  from  the  house  in  which  he  had  but 
lately  fancied  that  he  might  have  been  a  welcome  guest. 
O,  how  keenly  he  felt  th  footnnan's  insulting  manner,  the 
frigid  courtesy  of  tL  -  rotary,  and  the  evidently  pre- 
meditated negiect  an :  -nhospitality  of  the  wealthy  bishop 
of  t^  very  diocese.  _  ^i  he  been  a  common  beggar,  he 
could  scarce  V  have  been  more  rudely  repulsed.  He  was 
unfeelingly  ir^^en  from  the  door  that  he  had  always  hith- 
ertf  believe_  tos  open  for  the  courteous  reception  of  even 


:,.}:• 

;;?^i; 


» K  I.      I       ! 


I  fi  U| 


354 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HBATH. 


I S"'- 


the  poorest  and  most  humble  of  the  clerical  members  of 
the  Church.  In  the  whole  course  of  his  long  life,  he  had 
never  been  treated  so  heartlessly.  The  pleasing  anticipa- 
tions in  which  he  had  ventured  to  indulge  with  respect  to 
an  interview  with  his  lordship,  or  to  a  place  at  his  lord- 
ship's table,  were  ruthlessly  destroyed,  and,  with  down- 
cast look,  discouraged  and  humiliated,  he  walked  away 
slowly  and  with  wearied  steps,  having  now  different  views 
as  to  the  relation  existing  between  the  wealthy  bishop  of 
an  English  diocese,  and  a  poor  curate  from  such  a  parish 
as  Pendell.  Before  he  had  retired  that  night,  he  received 
the  bishop's  informal  reply  to  the  address  which  hu  had 
left  with  the  secretary  for  presentation. 

"  My  Dear  Me.  Meadk:  I  regret  very  muoh  that  the  memorial  in 
your  behalf  was  not  forwarded  to  me  sooner.  Arrangements  havo 
been  completed  whereby  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt,  one  of  my  chap- 
lains, will  succeed  to  the  living  at  Pendell;  and,  as  rector,  he  had 
already  appointed  m  y  nephew,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sofln,  lately  ordained,  to 
the  curacy  of  Pendell  parish  in  your  place  and  stead.  I  shall  be 
happy,  however,  to  assist  you  in  any  other  way. 

"Faithfully  yours,  **  Stobkchbsteb." 

The  memorial  not  forwarded  sooner,  and  the  late  rector 
not  yet  a  week  dead.  Ah,  thought  poor  Mr.  Meade,  what 
a  heartless  letter,  what  an  empty  pretext  to  deprive  me  of 
my  only  means  of  support.  After  so  many  long  years  am 
I  to  be  thus  dispossessed  of  my  curacy,  separated  from 
my  kind  parishioners  and  sent  away  from  my  old  home, 
in  order  that  the  bishop's  nephew  maybe  appointed  in 
my  place  ?  Alas,  alas,  what  a  scheme  of  injustice  to  be 
planned  and  executed  even  in  the  very  bosom  of  the 
Church!  - 

Alone  and  in  a  strange  place,  without  Esther  near  him, 
or  one  kind  friend  to  speak  a  word  of  comfort  in  this  hour 
of  trial,  he  sat  for  some  time,  bowed  down  and  afiflictod, 
with  the  bishop's  letter  spread  before  him;  he  could  not 
read  it  again,  for  the  page  seemed  blank  to  his  gaze ;  thu3 
he  sat,  and  tear  after  tear  dropped  upon  the  gilt-edged 
paper,  as  if  to  obliterate  its  contents ;  and  when  at  last  he 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH.  855 

laid  the  cruel  letter  aside  and  retired  for  the  night  he 
wept  himself  to  sleep  after  the  manner  of  a  poor  troubled 
child.* 

•  See  Note  15, 


nf 

I 

i  ■ 

!|   -.^ 

it. 

'1 

iiUh 

iim^i 

^  i  i. 

i  i) 

jj 

\H 

\':m 

'  '^^'hi 

<  (i 

V'iSi.P 

'i   i: 

-  \ 

'   '    '■  ] 

:    ,       I 

■  c 

■^'"i 

.1;     ']■ 


hll 

':        J] 

■   fa 

.'VJ 

'Hi 

1  il 

CHAPTER    XXXI. 


OFFER  OF  A  NEW  PARISH. 


l^EXT  morning,  before  the  curate  left  Storkchester,  he 
-*-^  heard  of  the  wreck  of  the  Indiaman  that  had  occur- 
red in  Pendell  Bay.  Previous  to  this  information,  he  was 
anxious  to  leave  the  city  in  which  he  was  a  stranger— in 
which  his  own  received  him  not— to  shake  the  dust  from 
his  feet,  and  never  to  see  the  place  again ;  but  this  start- 
ling news  made  him  still  more  desirous  of  reaching  home 
in  order  to  learn  the  particulars  of  the  disaster.  Had  ho 
been  aware  that  his  daughter  had  run  a  great  risk  in  her 
humane  endeavors  to  reach  the  fated  ship,  and  rescue  a 
few  iuUow-creatures,  it  would  have  been  a  cause  of  great 
unoasinoss ;  as  it  was,  he  knew  nothing  of  this  until  he 
got  back  to  PendoU.  In  his  haste  to  get  home,  he  paid 
out  most  of  the  little  sum  of  money  he  had  with  him  for 
a  seat  in  the  stage,  and  he  arrived  at  his  own  house  about 
dusk  in  the  evening.  When  he  entered  his  old  home 
again,  it  was  with  mingled  feelings  of  pleasure  and  oi' 
pain ;  he  was  glad  to  meet  Esther  and  others  of  his  house- 
hold, and  grieved  when  he  remembered  that  he  must 
probably  very  soon  leave  it  in  order  that  some  stranger 
should  occupy  it  in  his  place,  sit  in  its  little  parlor,  pace 
upon  the  pleasant  lawn,  and  muse  under  the  old  oak  in 
the  shade  of  which  he  himself  had  so  often  sat  to  think  of 
his  troubles,  to  contemplate  with  respect  to  the  future, 
and  to  speculate  upon  the  perplexing  religious  doctrines 
to  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  give  a  formal  assent. 


.  !i 


THE  IILATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


357 


Painful  impressions  would  have  affected  him  more  at  tiie 
time  were  it  not  for  the  emotions  by  \vhi(?h  he  was  influ- 
enced when  he  considered  the  tcrribre  danger  which 
Esther  had  escaped,  and  now  that  it  was  over,  he  felt  no 
inclination  to  reprove  her  for  her  temerity,  but  rather  dis- 
l^osed  to  look  on  her  with  pride ,  and  to  speak  of  her  con- 
duct in  terms  of  parental  exultation.  And  then  associat- 
ed with  this  noble  girl  in  the  humane  effort,  was  that  very 
man  respecting  whom  nearly  all  were  so  ready  to  speak 
in  terms  of  gratitude.  How  strange  that  he  and  Esther 
should  have  met  for  the  first  time  under  snch  circum- 
stances, and  that  she  should  not  have  even  known  who  he 
was  until  they  had  escaped  all  dango:  and  achieved  their 
purpose ;  and  until  she  had  heard  his  name,  as  well  as 
her  own,  mingled  in  the  shouts  and  cheers  which  greeted 
them  on  their  return. 

This  is  partly  what  the  curate  had  gathered  from  his 
daughter's  recital  of  the  event,  and  he  could  then  per- 
ceive that  she  not  only  entertained  a  high  opinion  of 
Mr.  Valiant,  but  seemed  greatly  pleased  when  referring 
to  the  glowing  words  which  he  had  addressed  to  her  before 
those  who  had  been  rescued,  as  well  as  in  the  presence  of 
others  who  had  assembled  after  they  had  safely  landed 
from  the  life-boat;  she  also  appeared  equally  gratified 
when  she  informed  him  that  Mr.  Valiant  had  called  at  the 
parsonacre  to  make  kind  inquiries  after  her,  and  had  call- 
ed again  that  morning,  in  company  with  his  son,  to  see 
the  foreign  lady  whom  she  had  invited  to  stay  for  a  time 
with  her,  and  with  whom  he  appeared  to  be  well  acquaiol- 
ed ;  and  how  this  lady  was  struck  with  the  resemblance 
which  Esther  bore  to  one  of  this  lady's  most  particular 
friends ;  and  then  she  depicted  the  delight  of  Mr.  Valiant, 
as  well  as  the  gladness  of  all,  when  this  same  lady  restor- 
ed his  son;  and  she  alluded  to  Mr.  Valiant's  princely 
,i:;enerosity  toward  the  brave  men  who  had  accompanied 
them  to  the  wreck,  as  well  as  his  kind  attention  to  those 
that  had  been  saved  from  the  ship. 

As  the  foreign  lady,  who  wished  to  be  known  as  Ranee, 


''* 


III! 


:  ..„j 


Hut 
m 

<i.|g£P'l; 


t 


358 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


had  already  retired— she  was  still  suffering  from  the  shook 
she  had  received  at  the  time  of  the  wreck— the  curate  was 
unable  to  see  her  that  night,  and  add  his  welcome  to  that 
so  readily  given  by  his  daughter,  he  was,  however,  greatly 
interested  in  what  he  had  just  heard,  and  he  was  as  much 
rejoiced  as  any  one  could  be  to  learn  that  Mr.  Valiant  had 
found  his  son  in  a  manner  so  singular  and  unexpected ; 
and  that  this  boy  was  one  of  those  whom  Esther  had 
assisted  in  saving  from  a  dreadful  death.  Indeed,  so 
absorbed  was  he  in  listening  to  his  daughter's  vivid  ac- 
count of  the  wreck  and  the  rescue,  that  he  had  for  the 
time  altogether  forgotten  that  which  an  hour  or  two 
before  had  prayed  so  heavily  upon  his  mind ;  and  it  was 
not  until  all  others  in  the  house,  except  Esther,  had  retir- 
ed, that  he  related  to  her  his  trials  and  disappointments 
in  the  city  of  Storkch ester. 

When  he  had  finished  the  little  story  of  his  wrongs,  he 
was  surprised  to  see  how  little  affected  she  appeared  to  be 
by  what  had  occurred;  and  he  was  rather  gratified  to 
discover  that  his  daughter  took  a  more  hopeful  view  of 
their  circumstances  than  he  supposed  she  would.  One 
might  fancy  that  she  was  quite  indifferent  as  to  whether 
she  should  hear  of  his  dismissal,  or  of  his  retention  and 
advancement;  and  instead  of  being  discouraged  by  what 
her  father  had  told  her,  her  words,  in  reply,  were  such  as 
to  have  an  inspiring  effect,  and  her  manner  at  this  pecu- 
liar time  had  a  most  cheering  influence ;  and  though  Mr. 
Meado  felt  that  those  vested  with  power  and  authority  in 
the  Church,  had  left  him,  after  long  years  of  service,  to 
struggle  with  adversity  as  best  he  could,  yet  while  Esther 
was  with  him,  and  as  long  as  she  could  be  so  confident,  he 
would  try  to  believe  that  the  future  might  not  be  so  dreary 
as  the  clouds  before  him  seemed  to  portend. 

Early  next  day,  several  of  his  parishioners  called  to 
learn  how  the  bishop  had  received  the  memorial,  and 
whether  his  lordship  had  given  it  his  favorable  considera- 
tion. Some  present  were,  in  fact,  under  the  impression 
that  the  bishop  might  be  so  influenced  by  what  had  been 


TH£  HEATHENS  0¥   THE  HEATH. 


359 


said  in  favor  of  the  curate,  as  well  as  by  his  own  personal 
knowledge  of  his  excellence,  that  there  was  a  probability 
of  Mr.  Meade's  advancement  to  a  vicarage;  and  a  few 
were  even  sanguine  enough  to  imagine  that  his  loidship 
would  at  once  see  the  justice  and  propriety  of  lending  his 
powerful  aid  toward  getting  him  appointed  rector  of  the 
parish ;  all,  however,  had  not  the  slightest  doubt  but  that 
ho  was  still  to  remain  among  them  in  a  clerical  capacity 
of  some  kind  for  years  longer. 

The  curate  was  of  course  much  pleased  to  receive  these 
kind  friends,  and  though  he  felt  sad  at  the  moment,  yet 
he  could  not  keep  from  smiling  at  their  earnestness  of 
manner,  and  the  warmth  of  feeling  that  he  had  no  doubt 
would  have  become  joyful  excitement  were  it  known  that 
ho  had  actually  been  dignified  with  a  bishopric.  Even 
tlien,  good  man,  knowing  their  affection  for  him,  he  dis- 
liked to  undeceive  them ;  he  would  have  kept  the  unpleas- 
ant truth  if  he  could,  but  as  they  would  soon  hear  all  offi- 
cially, he  thought  it  would  be  best  for  him  to  explain  at 
once  how  matters  stood. 

As  it  was,  some  had  already  begun  to  suspect  that  all 
was  not  right;  they  saw  by  the  curate's  subdued  demean- 
or that  he  probably  had  information  of  an  unpleasant 
kind  to  communicate ;  there  was  something  in  his  look  of 
mild  resignation  that  had  a  depressing  effect,  and  after  he 
had  quietly  put  on  his  spectacles  and  read  out  slowly  and 
distinctly  the  bishop's  harsh  epistle,  there  was  a  deep 
silence  until  he  said  to  them,  with  tremulous  voice: 
"  Therefore,  my  good  friends,  you  must  understand  from 
what  I  have  just  read,  that  I  am  your  curate  here  no  lon- 


>> 


ger 

For  a  few  minutes  those  around  him  looked  as  if  thun- 
derstruck by  this  intelligence ;  some  jumped  at  once  from 
their  seats  with  a  cry  of  indignation,  others  shouted : 
"down  with  the  Church,  down  with  the  bishop",  down  with 
everything,"  while  one,  more  excited  and  profane  than 
the  rest  swore  out  roundly  against  the  Church  and  its 
mitred  auLhoriiies,  and  finished  by  saying:  "Damn  the 


'^: 


■  ;i 


I- 


I-  imi} 


:  m. 


f, ; 


mr,  u 


3G0 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


U^'il 


bishop,  and  damn  Vanscourt  and  his  fop  of  a  curate— thoy 
maun  all  go  to  hoU ;  wo  will  keep  thee  here  for  our  curato 
in  spite  o'  the  deevil  an'  the  bishop  too ;  let  *em  coom  hero 
an'  try  it  if  they  dare ;  an'  if  all  goes  to  all  we  will  all  turu 
Methodeos  ;in'  'ave  thee  for  oor  preaeher."  Other  expros- 
sions  equally  vehement  were  used  on  the  occasion,  ami 
while  the  curate's  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  and  stout 
parishioners  stood  around  him  with  clenched  fists  and 
flushed  faces,  another  person  entered  the  room,  and  vvheu 
the  curate  looked  up  he  recognized  a  truly  sympathizin*^- 
friend  in  John  Valiant. 

In  a  little  time  every  thing  was  explained  to  the  new 
comer ;  they  would  have  him  hear  all.  The  bishop's  let- 
ter was  again  read,  and  again  threats  and  expletives  of  no 
pious  kind  were  freely  used ;  and  though  Mr.  Meade  advis- 
ed them  to  submit  quietly  to  what  was  inevitable,  yet  they 
remained  still  indi  ■•nant,  and  after  they  had  left  the  room 
their  voices  coulu  be  heard  outside  in  loud  and  angry 
threats  and  denunciations,  as  if  under  the  foolish  impres- 
sion that  by  such  clamor  they  might  possibly  be  able  to 
intimidate  the  bishop,  or  oblige  him  to  restore  Mr.  Meade 
to  his  old  position  among  them. 

Mr.  Valiant  did  not  require  this  additional  evidence  to 
be  assured  of  how  highly  the  curate  was  esteemed  by  his 
parishioners,  and  he  took  the  opportunity  of  telling  him 
that  he  was  not  sorry  that  ho  was  to  be  relieved,  were  it 
only  for  a  short  time,  from  his  clerical  duties,  because  he, 
Mr.  Valiant,  was  desirous  of  having  the  benefit  of  his  ad- 
vice and  experience  with  regard  to  an  institution  which  ho 
wished  to  establish  on  the  Heath ;  an  institution  for  the 
culture  and  amusement  of  the  residents  of  that  place. 

Mr.  Meade,  who  had  been  touclicd  by  the  devot  ion  of 
tliose  of  his  parishioners  that  had  just  left  him,  now  felt 
that  an  influential  friend  had  come  to  offer  encouragement 
and  that  there  was  something  in  his  proposal  which  might 
be  intended  not  only  to  keei)  him  from  harassing  thoughts 
as  to  his  future  prospects,  but  also  for  his  pecuniar> 
advantage ;  it  was  in  fact  a  delicate  way  of  hinting  tbat  his 


llr 


THE  HEATHENS  UF  TBI  HEATH. 


361 


services  won  «l  be  rcviuiiud  on  the  Hoath,  not  us  a  mission- 
ary, but  in  a  situation  which  porh.ips  would  be  to  him  far 
more  useful  and  agreeable,  and  for  Esther's  sake  he  would 
^dadly  serve  in  any  such  capacity.  The  curate  in  reply 
assured  Mr.  Valiant  that  if  he  could  be  of  any  assistance 
to  him  in  his  efforts  to  advance  the  condition  of  others,  he 
would  gladly  I'lace  his  humble  services  at  his  disposal. 
Ho  had  been  among  the  people  of  the  Heath  time  after 
lime,  when  few  others  in  a  clerical  position  would  have 
ventured  to  visit  them,  and  now  that  they  had  been  so 
much  more  civilized,  he  could  go  more  willingly  among 
them  as  an  instructor.  After  a  few  words  on  other  sub- 
jects Mr.  Valiant  took  his  leave,  having  accepted  an 
invitation  to  call  and  spend  the  evening  witli  them. 

Mr.  Meade  had  not  yet  seen  Ranee,  and  she  now  enter- 
ed the  apartment  in  which  he  was,  accompanied  by 
Esther.  She  made  a  low  courtesy  and  seized  and  kissed 
the  curate's  extended  hand.  He  received  her  in  the  kind- 
est manner  and  assured  her  of  a  welcome,  sympathized 
with  her  on  account  of  the  suffering  she  must  have  lately 
endured,  and  congratulated  her  on  her  wonderful  escape. 
He  was  greatly  interested  in  this  stranger ;  she  was  well 
known  to  Mr,  Valiant,  and  had  no  doubt  secured  his  last- 
ing gratitude  by  having  been  the  means  of  restoring  his 
son  in  a  way  ao  remarkable ;  and  as  there  was  yet  a  mys- 
tery about  the  matter,  Mr.  Meade,  as  well  as  his  daughter, 
was  curious  to  hear  something  of  her  history. 

Ranee  was  scarcely  thirty  years  of  age,  rather  of  a  light 
brown  complexion ;  she  was  not  tall,  but  slight  and  finely 
shaped ;  her  hair  was  black ;  her  eyes  dark  and  expres- 
sive ;  her  features  were  soft  and  regular,  and  her  face, 
though  marked  with  some  lines  of  care,  was  still  beauti- 
ful. There  was  a  kind  of  mystery  in  her  look  that  was 
almost  fascinating,  and  though  a  foreigner,  she  spoke 
English  quite  well,  and  was  of  a  most  amiable  disposition. 
She  was  dressed  partly  in  Oriental  style,  which  was  grace- 
ful and  becoming;  she  wore  large  ear-rings;  she  had 
several  rings  on  her  fingers,  and  many  gold  ornamenta 


U 


•i^i 


M    I 


■I: 


m 


k 

m 


■*!»»»» 


.Ill 

m 


362 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


were  conspicuous  on  different  parts  of  her  costume,  all  of 
which  she  wore  at  the  time  of  the  wreck.  She  had  never 
been  in  England  before ;  never  before  out  of  India.  8I10 
spolce  of  Mr.  Valiant  as  an  old  and  valuod  friend,  and  both 
Miss  Meade  and  her  father  were  anxious  to  make  her  as 
comfortable  as  possible  under  the  circumstances. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Mr.  Valiant  called  at  the  parson- 
age, he  brought  his  son  with  him,  and  was  in  a  most  hai>py 
mood.  He  came  for  the  first  time  to  spend  a  quiet  even- 
ing with  his  friends  at  the  curate's  house,  to  talk  of  other 
days  with  Ranee ;  and  perhaps  to  whisper  well-deservcMl 
compliments  to  Esther,  who  had  not  been  absent  from  his 
mind  twenty  minutes  at  a  time  since  he  handed  her  out  of 
the  life  boat.  Mr.  Valiant's  son  was  an  intelligent  boy, 
now  nearly  ten  years  of  age,  and  his  brown  hair  and  clear 
Bkin  might  lead  one  to  fancy  that  he  was  English  born ; 
he  was  attached  to  Eanee  and  was  delighted  when  he  met 
his  father  again.  How  calm  it  was  this  pleasant  afternoon, 
the  air  was  in  repose  as  if  weary  by  the  fury  which  it  ex- 
hibited only  two  days  previously  when  the  richly  freighted 
Indiaman  was  cast  upon  the  rocks.  Though  the  great  ship 
had  been  dashed  to  pieces,  much  of  its  freight  had  been 
washed  ashore ;  planks  and  spars,  and  boxes,  and  bales, 
had  been  cast  high  and  dry  far  up  on  the  beach,  and 
among  other  things  two  of  Eanee's  trunks  had  thus  been 
discovered.  Mr.  Valiant  gave  them  an  account  of  what 
had  taken  place  after  they  had  landed  from  the  life  boat, 
"For  more  than  three  hours,"  said  he,  "we  remained  by 
the  cable  which  had  been  attached  to  the  vessel  from  the 
shore,  until  every  human  being  except  one  was  saved. 
The  person  unfortunately  lost  was  an  invalid  missionary 
returning  from  Calcutta ;  when  the  vessel  struck  he  be- 
came terribly  alarmed,  lost  all  presence  of  mind  and  was 
washed  overboard,  even  a  large  Newfoundland  dog  was 
brought  ashore  by  the  Captain  who  was  the  last  to  leave 
the  ship.  Shortly  afterwards  the  gale  increased,  and  by 
dawn  nothing  of  the  wreck  could  be  seen  except  part  of 
a  shattered  mast— a  melancholy  signal  of  the  disaster— 


1;.    im|  wa 


flit 


lltMi 


THE  HEATHKNS  OF  THR  HRATH. 


363 


which  must  have  boon  hold  in  an  upriglit  position  by  an 
ontangleniont  of  ropes  and  bloelis  among  the  roclcs. 
Thirty-two  sailors  and  the  Captain  were  saved,  and  eleven 
passengers.  The  next  day  after  having  secured  most  of 
what  was  washed  ashore,  the  Captain,  a  number  of  sea- 
men, and  most  of  the  passengers  proceeded  to  London ; 
seven  native  sailors  from  Calcutta,  three  from  France, 
three  from  Germany,  and  two  from  Turkey,  who  were 
undetermined  what  to  do,  were  persuaded  by  me  to  go 
to  the  Heath.  I  spoke  to  some  in  thoir  native  tongue, 
and  have  perhai)s  gained  their  coniidence— I  wanted  a 
reinforcement  of  homeless  men,  and  if  I  can  induce  them 
to  remain,  those  who  choose  may  build  a  temple  and  wor- 
ship Buddha— or  any  other  Deity— and  abstain  from  beef 
every  day  in  the  year  as  rigidly  as  a  good  Catholic  would 
on  Friday,  provided  they  do  not  interfere  with  the  relig- 
ious observances  of  others— a  charge  rarely  sujitained 
against  pagans— and  they  try  and  co-operate  with  all  for 
the  general  good.  I  wish  to  blend  or  amalKaniate  the 
Asiatic  and  the  European,  to  wean  them  gradually  from 
nationality  and  superstition,  and  with  your  aid  "said  he 
bowing  to  Mr.  Meade,  "to  impart  to  them  better  and 
more  exalted  ideas,  and  much  of  the  useful  and  moat 
requisite  knowledge  of  which  they  are  I  fear  unfortunately 
ignorant." 

Miss  Meade,  who  sat  a  little  distance  from  the  others, 
now  turned  to  glance  at  the  speaker,  in  whom  she  felt  an 
increasing  interest.  She  looked  chai  miiig  this  mild  after- 
noon ;  the  sunlight  was  woven  in  her  profusion  of  brown 
iiair,  so  as  to  give  it  a  golden  sheen  similar  to  a  nimbus 
over  the  head  of  a  Madonna.  There  was  one  present  who 
l)articularly  noticed  this,  and  who  was  also  struck  with 
the  beautiful  expression  of  countenance  which  heightened 
the  attractions  of  Esther,  leaving  her  in  his  estimation 
almost  incomparable.  She  had  listened  to  every  word 
with  increasing  pleasure,  the  voice  which  she  had  heard, 
was  to  her  soft  and  musical,  and  for  the  time  she  forgot 
all  care,  and  was  supremely  happy. 


mm 


If' 


:.ii 


\M 


::;!! 


,1 


,4iU^j.. 


Ml 


\y    ! 


1; 


364 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


"The  limited  knowledge  which  I  possess,"  replied  the 
c'urato,  "  shall  be  mos'  willingly  bestowed  in  the  way  you 
mention,  if  I  am  obliged  to  Icavo  my  old  quarters.  It  will 
be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  be  engaged  in  such  a  duty ;  when 
one  imparts  useful  information,  ho  gains  by  the  giving— 1 
may  not,  however,  succeed  as  a  missionary,  but  — " 

"No,  not  as  a  missionary,"  interrupted  Mr.  Valiant, 
**  not  as  a  missionary  in  the  religious  sense  of  the  term; 
we  will  teach  them  no  creeds.  I  would  rather  have  them 
unlearn  all  they  know  of  the  intricacies  of  theology,  than 
have  their  minds  remain  confused  and  stupifled  by  the 
babel  of  clerical  opinions  on  that  subject.  No,  come  as  a 
teacher  of  common  sense ;  you  have  that  in  abundance ; 
come  as  the  instructor  of  science ;  come  and  touch  their 
hearts  with  the  humane  and  generous  feelings  which  1 
know  you  possess— that  will  be  the  true  missionary  worlc 
which  will  make  them  more  contented  with  existence, 
than  were  they  to  bo  trained  to  believe  that  this  beautiful 
world  is  but  a  vale  of  tears,  and  that  the  God  they  wor- 
shii)ed  is  one  who  can  be  easily  incensed,  and  so  revenge- 
ful and  unforgiving  as  to  hurl  millions  to  perdition  in 
order  that  His  offended  dignity  may  be  satislied.  We 
want  no  such  Deity— we  shall  have  no  such  teaching 
there ;  and  if  we  are  to  have  any  kind  of  religion,  let  it  be 
that  which  will  expand  the  heart  and  fully  inculcate 
universal  brotherly  love." 

A  generous  glow  was  upon  the  face  of  the  speaker, 
when  Miss  Meade  looked  hastily  at  him.  She  was  sur- 
prised and  rather  pained  at  the  moment— were  not  tlio 
words  she  had  just  heard  a  reflection  upon  the  attrib  ites 
and  character  of  the  Great  Being  whom  she  had  b'^'ii 
trained  to  worship;  and  now,  ae  her  eyes  rested  calmly 
upon  John  Valiant,  she  was  sorry,  vory  sorry  for  his  skep- 
tical utterances.  There  was  a  time  when  6li»  associated 
such  ideas  as  Mr.  Valiant  had  just  given,  as  belonging?  -o 
the  disBolute;  she  could  do  so  no  longer;  he  was  every 
way  ciuite  the  reverse ;  and  she  felt  grieved  that  he  and 
others  like  him  should  be  governed  by  suoh  heterodox 


^5I1 


ed  the 
ay  yuu 
It  will 
;  when 
ring— 1 

aliant, 
)  term ; 
)  them 
y,  than 
by  tho 
ne  as  a 
Ldanc(3 ; 
h  tlu'ir 
vhich  1 
:y  work 
istence, 
eautirul 
ey  wor- 
evciigo- 
Ltioii  in 
d.     We 
eachinj; 
let  it  bo 

ICUlCcltC 

ipeaker, 
vas  hur- 
not  tho 
trib  ites 
id  been 
calmly 
ds  skop- 
soeiatod 

iis  every 

,  he  and 

Lerodox 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 

opinions;  and  also  <?rieved  to  find  that  the  mind,  tho 
Uilent,  and  the  learning;-  of  the  age,  went  so  far  in  a  direc- 
tion so  oblique  from  what  she  considered  truth, 

Mr.  Meade  offered  no  reply  to  what  had  been  said.  As 
cni'ale  of  Pendell,  he  was  supposed  to  be  orthodox;  he 
had  to  give  his  assent  to  the  Thirty-nine  Article!L^<  of  his 
Church,  and  probably  would  have  assented  to  thirty-nine 
more  at  the  time  of  his  ordination  were  it  indispensable. 
Like  thousands  of  others,  his  trade  was  to  be  a  priest,  and 
as  a  priest,  he  must  profess  to  believe  whether  he  believed 
or  not;  and  the  tenets  and  mysteries  which  he  could  not 
nnderstan(i,  he  left  for  the  discussion  of  Doctors  of  Divin- 
ity, or  to  the  wordy  hair-splitting  of  semi-inspired  com- 
mentators. 

"And  then,"  continued  Mr.  Valiant,  "we  must  have 
another  helper,  we  must  have  that  great  aid  to  devotion- 
music.  What  would  your  great  cathedrals  with  their  paint- 
ing and  statuary— with  their  images  of  saints,  angels  and 
aposlleg— be  without  it?  How  much  more  attractive  are 
your  forms  and  ceremonies ;  how  almost  inspired  are  your 
authorized  prayers,  and  litanies,  and  vain  repetitions ;  and 
how  much  more  endurable  are  your  prosy,  vapid  sermons, 
when  relieved  by  that  great  allurement  ?  Why,  even  the 
sternest  sects  that  once  preferred  monotonous  droning,  and 
rcijoeted  instrumental  music  as  indecorous,  or  as  olYensive 
to  the  deity,  now  try  to  rival  one  another  with  the  costly 
melody  of  '  powerful  organs  '  and  well  trained  choirs ;  and 
the  basso,  the  alto,  the  tenor,  and  the  soprano,  are  at 
present  the  evangelists  that  do  more  now  to  keep  piety 
alive  in  our  sanctuaries  than  the  holy  archbishops  them- 
selves. The  fact  is  that,  at  the  present  time,  religion  can- 
not stand  alone,  it  must  have  such  props  to  keep  it  from 
falling  into  utter  puerility.  Yes,  we  must  have  music  as 
well  as  science  on  the  Heath,  they  are  both  tho  hand- 
maids of  humanity;  and  I  have  heard  that  the  crowds 
which  have  flowed  so  constantly  toward  Pendell  Church 
on  the  Sabbath,  were  drawn  thither  as  much  by  tlie 
preacher  at  the  organ,  as  by  the  preacher  in  the  Dulpit." 


ii 


L^J 


pif 

■pttHi 

11''! 

"Wl'f^H 

w 

f 

m'  . 

4«Mr 

i,a 

s*l-', 

306 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATa. 


and  having  said  this  lie  bowed  to  Miss  Meade  as  if  alono 
wortliy  of  this  peculiar  compiiment. 

Esther's  face  became  suffused  at  the  allusion,  she  <laro(l 
not  look  toward  him;  even  she,  more  orthodox  than  l)ic 
i'urate  himself  felt  the  force  of  the  remark  and  inwardly 
admitted  its  truth. 

"  It  is  the  case,  I  really  believe,"  said  Mr.  Meade,  rather 
l)leased  that  Mr.  Valiant  shoul<l  have  thus  recuip^nized  his 
daughter's  abilities,  "and  very  often  indeed,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  inspiration  I  received  from  Esthcu-,  my  mind 
would  have  been  in  an  unfit  state  for  worship.  At't(^i 
a  lonj?  experience  I  lind  relij^ion  to  be  a  thing  more  of  foc^l- 
ing  than  of  reason;  and  mu  ic  being  the  soul  of  feelini; 
prepares  the  heart.  Many  a  lim*^  I  have  found  it  a  heavy 
task  to  pray — I  often  have  doubted  the  efficacy  of  any  sup- 
plication to  the  dtnty — but  after  she  had  tou(jhed  the  organ, 
prayer  was  a  pleasure,  and  I  felt  it  a  restraint  to  be  lim- 
ited to  the  formal  words  of  our  ritual.  Yes,  music  is  the 
voice  of  the  heart,  and  it  must  be  heard  ui)on  the  Heath 
to  insure  success." 

"Well,  if  we  get  a  fine  instrument  for  our  institution 
on  the  Heath,  you  must  jflml  us  a  tirst  class  performer," 
said  Mr.  Valiant  addressing  the  curate.  "  Oh,  if  you  coul«l 
only  get  us  the  one  I  heard  a  few  nights  since  in  the  Old 
Ohurch.  It  was  nearly  midnight,  and  were  I  superstitious 
]  might  believe,  as  some  in  this  place  still  do,  that  the 
monks  and  nuns  of  other  days  leave  their  tombs  at  cer- 
tain times,  to  celebrate  again  a  midnight  mass  in  their 
ancient  cafhedral,  and  that  the  'Dies  irw'  is  once  more 
sung  as  if  to  awaken  the  slumbering  dead.  Oh,  what 
music  I  chanced  to  hear— solemn  and  beautiful— I  could 
almost  fancy  that  I  was  listening  to  the  very  wordr  a 
verse  or  two  from  that  impressive  medieval  hymn  on  the 
last  judgment,  mournfully  chanted  again,  by  some  of  the 
ancient,  hooded,  choristers  of  the  old  church : 


.aua 


;i, 


*Tuba  mirum  spargons  soniim 
Per  HOpiiI'^ni  roKioimin 
Coffot  oTiiiKis  unto  thronura. 


14114 


THE   HEATHENS  OF  THE   HEATH.  807 

Rnx  tremond.T?  majostatia. 
Qui  .'uilv.'indos  salvas  gratia, 
Salva  mo  funs  piutatls.' 

The  (lirc:e-liko  sounds  that  wore  borno  away  on  the  p^ale 
at  the  time,  would  liavo  nnn  .=  ae  ]  the  stoutest  heart,  one 
iniKht  readily  imagine  that  he  heard  the  tremulous  voices 
of  the  prostrate  monks  as  they  tried  to  r)roiiitiate  the 
terriVjle  divinity  they  worshii)ed  ;  or  that  holy  angels  were 
1) leading  with  the  furious  storm  that  raged  that  night  to 
si)are  some  lone  ship  away  upon  the  mighty  deej),  or  to 
si)are  some,  who  were  beloved  in  heaven,  from  being  cast 
away  upon  a  treacherous  shore.  Who  oould  have  been 
the  magical  i)erformer  in  the  church  that  night?  " 

Though  this  (luestion  was  as  it  were  naively  asked  by 
John  Valiant,  he  no  doubtcould  have  madeashrewd  guess 
as  to  the  spirit,  or  the  person  that  had  called  forth  such 
harmony. 

"Esther  plays  in  the  church  at  a  late  hour  sometimes," 
said  the  curate,  innocent  of  the  knowledge  that  such  an 
admission  to  Mr.  Valiant  would  greatly  disconcert  her 
to  whom  ho  ref(U*r(}d;  she  felt  quite  restless  and  would 
h.'ivo  gladly  h^ft  the  room  had  an  opportunity  offered. 
"At  such  times,"  ooiiliuucfl  the  curate,  "she  and  old 
Stephen  have  the  church  all  to  themselves,  and  seldom 
are  any  present  unless  the  monks  come  back  to  hear  her; 
in  fact  I  have  heard  some  say  that  her  music  can  awake 
the  dead,  I  doubt  if  this  be  the  case,  but  one  thing  I  do 
know,  she  often  awakes  the  si)iritually  dead  who  come  on 
Sundays  to  take  a  favorite  doze  in  their  pews." 

Until  that  moment  Miss  Meade  was  not  aware  that  John 
Valiant  had  ever  been  in  the  old  church,  much  less  that 
•he  jiad  been  present  at  so  late  an  hour  during  her  last 
l)erfornHince  on  tlio  organ.  The  knowledge  of  this, 
now  discomposed  her  very  much,  why  it  should  bo  so,  she 
scarcely  understood  herself. 

"All,  I  see,  wo  know,  I  think,  to  whom  we  may  now 
ap])ly  without  a  chance  of  refusal.  You  have  great 
rca-un,"  said   Mr.  Valiant  addressing  the  curate,  "to  be 


368 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


I 
V 


\Ul' 


m 


iT.:« 


proud  of  your  fair  daupfhter.  From  what  I  have  already 
heard  and  seen  she  will  be  irresistible  on  the  Heath  as  slio 
is  every  where  else.  If  she  cannot  awake  the  dead,  I  know 
that  she  can  awake  the  living;  she  can  infuse  life  into 
dead  hearts,  she  has  already  given  a  fresh  love  of  life  to 
one  which  was  partly  witherod ;  and  you  and  she  together 
will  be  the  only  kind  of  missionaries  we  shall  ever  require." 
John  Valiant,  who  must  have  noticed  Esther's  embar- 
rassment, was  desirous  of  making  her  feel  more  at  ease. 
She  had  perhaps  never  before  been  subject  to  the  pecu- 
liar emotions  which  had  effected  her  during  the  last  half 
hour.  She  could  not  have  been  else  than  highly  pleased 
by  the  flattering  allusion  of  Mr.  Valiant,  his  peculiar 
recognition  of  her  abilities  started  her  heart  to  throb 
wildly  in  her  bosom ;  yet,  it  was  singular  that  his  words 
should  cause  her,  as  it  were,  to  shrink  from  such  notice, 
she  could  hear  praise  from  other  lips  with  indifference  but 
not  from  his.  However,  whether  he  fully  understood  her 
feelings  at  the  time  or  otherwise,  he  gave  a  welcome  turn 
to  the  conversation  and  reverted  to  Ranee,  and  to  scenes 
of  his  earlier  days  in  a  distant  land. 


'I  li' 


,1  ready 

as  sho 

I  know 

fe  into 

life  to 
)gether 
quire." 
embar- 
Lt  ease, 
e  pecu- 
ist  half 
pleased 
peculiar 
0  throb 
3  words 

notice, 
;nce  but 
ood  her 
me  turn 
)  scenes 


CHAPTEK    XXXII. 


A  RECOGNITION. 


rilHE  foreign  lady,  who  was  the  object  of  much  atten- 
^  tion,  sat  quietly  listening  to  the  conversation  between 
her  old  friend  and  the  curate.  She  looked  from  time  to 
time  at  John  Valiant  and  then  at  Esther;  with  him  she 
was  well  acquainted  and  she  admired  his  nobleness  of 
soul;  she  perhaps  knew  his  worth  better  than  any  one 
present ;  and  the  way  in  which  she  occasionally  scrutin- 
ized the  features  of  Miss  Meade  might  lead  one  to  suppose 
that  there  was  something  in  the  countenance  she  scanned 
which  greatly  interested  her;  she  looked  at  Esther  like 
one  who  v/as  trying  to  remember  whether  she  had  ever 
seen  lier  face  before— a  face  now  crimsoned  and  beautiful 
in  the  evening  light. 

"  I  must  tell  you  something  of  our  friend,"  said  Mr. 
Valiant  alluding  to  Eanee,  *'  Miss  Meade  must  have  been 
greatly  astonished  to  see  us  recognize  each  other  as  we 
did  after  having  passed  in  darkness  through  such  a  terri- 
ble ordeal." 

"Icertainly  tog  astonished,"  said  Esther;  "thesurprise 
at  meeting  u-xder  such  circumstances  was  evidently 
mutual."  And,  were  she  to  have  added  her  sentiments  at 
the  momert,  she  would  have  told  them  that  she  was 
oqutiUy  surprised  and  pleased  when  she  recognized  the 
features  of  him  who  had  been  so  often  in  her  tliougbts 
bince  her  late  visit  to  Zingari. 

"Well,"  said   Ranee,   "it    was   a    wonderful    escapo. 


1    1 

r      'j 

t    it 

4*mU 

uh   ^  ' 

■**'L. 

■t.  Bl  P' ' 


a  ! 


;i7o 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


•!f 


SI 


'«*HV 


I        !'i 


%ii 


Alfirmed  as  we  well  mi.^ht  be  n  board  the  ship,  I  was 
still  more  so  when  I  tirst  saw  our  little  boat  coininjf 
towards  us ;  now  poised  upon  a  mighty  wave,  and  now 
hidden  in  the  depths  out  of  which  I  thouglit  you  could 
never  reappear ;  and  then,  when  you  approached  us  sul'li- 
t'i(Mitly  near,  so  as  we  could  recognize  your  forms,  even  the 
hardy  sailors  were  amazed  when  they  saw  a  woman  at  tho 
helm.  O  noble  creature,"  said  she  addressing  Esther, 
"  what  a  fearful  risk  you  ran  to  save  our  lives !  " 

"  I  did  not  think  it  was  any  risk  at  the  time,"  said  Estlior 
calmly,  "I  saw  the  imminent  danger  you  were  in;  and  I 
am  sure  that  not  one  in  the  boat  hesitated  to  go  to  yoiii 
rescue  out  of  consideration  of  personal  safety— resolution 
can  easily  overcome  fear." 

"Yes,  yours  was  a  noble  resolution,"  continued  Raiioo, 
"it  may  have  been  to  your  magnanimous  condncl, 
and  to  your  skilful  guiding  of  that  little  boat  throuj^h 
the  fiend-like  waves  eager  for  our  destruction,  that  I  uiii 
indebted  for  my  life,  and  for  my  unsxpected  discovery  of 
a  valued  friend.  Yet,  I  cannot  say  that  this  was  alto- 
gether unlooked  for;  all  that  day  I  anticipated  some 
disaster,  still  I  was  not  afraid  ;  it  was  my  impression,  even 
after  our  vessel  struck  the  rocks,  that  no  great  evil  would 
befall  me,  that  while  others  might  be  bereft  of  all,  and 
scattered  among  strangers,  I  should  be  well  cared  for.  I 
knew  that  our  good  friend  Valiant  was  in  England,  bui  I 
fancied  he  would  be  found  only  in  your  great  city  of  J  .>n 
don;  not  here  in  this  quiet  village  of  PendoU.  You  can- 
not conceive  the  joy  of  my  heart  when  I  recognized  hi-^ 
honest  face.  He  knows  a  little  of  my  history,  he  can  tell 
you  something  about  me  in  a  few  words;  there  may  bo 
little  to  interest  any  one,  yet  such  as  it  is,  I  would  ])rt't'or 
to  have  you  acciuainted  with  it."  She  spoke  lluently  in  un 
animated  way,  but  with  a  slightly  foreign  acjcent. 

"It  is  now  nearly  twenty  years,"  said   Mr.   Valiant, 


(< 


w 


since  I  first  saw  our  friend  Ranee,  it  was  in  Beiiun's, 
This  you  know  is  the  Holy  City  of  the  Hindoos,  and  p- 
gaided  by  many  of  them  as  the  center  of  the  world,  tlin 


fi' 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  UEATH. 


371 


gate  of  heaven,  the  place  beyond  all  others  in  which  the 
pious  believer  in  Brahma  wisiies  to  die;  thereby  being 
certain  of  eternal  happiness.  Her  father  had  just  died 
there ;  he  was  related  to  one  of  the  India  princes  who  had 
formerly  been  a  Eajah ;  and  Ranee,  then  scarcely  eight 
years  old,  was  a  widow.  It  had  been  arranged  that  in 
consequence  of  that  misfortune  she  should  be  kept  in 
Benares,  educated  and  trained  for  religious  duties,  and 
after  a  certain  time  be  placed  to  serve  for  life  in  one  of  the 
temples  with  other  persons  of  like  condition.  You  look 
Hurprised  when  I  say  that  Ranee  was  a  widow  at  such  an 
early  age ;  it  was  nevertheless  the  fact ;  she  was  a  widow, 
although  never  married ;  I  shall  cxi)lain.  A  singular  cus- 
tom has  long  prevailed  among  the  Hindoos  in  India  of 
b  'trcthing  mere  children,  and  should  the  bridegroom  die 
before  the  celebration  of  the  marriage,  the  child,  or  girl, 
or  wcman,  is  considered  a  widow,  and  as  such  is  prohibited 
from  being  affianced  again.  Ranee  was  betrothed  when 
she  was  only  five  years  of  age,  she  became  a  widow  before 
slie  was  seven,  and  her  father,  then  in  poor  health,  took 
her  with  him  soon  afterward,  to  the  Holy  City  to  receive 
instruction,  and  he  remained  there  until  he  died.  I  had 
some  business  to  transact  with  one  of  Ranee's  relatives 
who  was  on  a  visit  to  Benares,  I  went  there  to  meet  him, 
and  I  S'l.w  her  then  for  the  first  time.  This  singular  cus- 
tom of  betrothal  which  originated  among  the  ancient 
inhabitants  of  India,  was  subsequently  adopted  by  the 
Jc^ws,  the  Romans,  and  by  other  nations  down  to  present 
times ;  indecKl  many  of  the  Mosaic  ceremonies  have  been 
copied  solely  from  the  original  Hindoo,  or  Indian  relig- 
ious rites. 

It  was  nearly  ten  years  afterward  before  I  saw  Ranee 
again ;  I  then  scarcely  recognized  her,  she  had  grown  to 
be  a  l>o,'iutiful  woman,  and  I  sliould  not  have  known  her 
unless  I  had  been  inlormed  who  she  was.  I  liad  received 
a  letter  from  a  very  particular  frien<l  in  Calcutla,  wlio  in- 
formed me  that  he  was  a]M:>ut  to  get  married,  and  he 
requested  that  I  would  be  i»resent  at  the  ceremony.    Be- 


I3IC 


r  I 


r  ' 

1% 

Ir 
ll 


kUh  ft 


372 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ing  at  the  time  but  a  short  distance  from  Calcutta,  I 
attended,  and  I  was  pleased  and  surprised  to  find  that 
Kanee  was  to  b»  the  bride.  "While  visiting  one  of  the  tem- 
ples at  Benares,  my  friend,  whose  name  is  Charles  Maid- 
Bton,  happened  to  see  her  and  was  almost  at  once  enam- 
oured by  her  beauty.  It  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
that  he  found  an  opportunity  of  speaking  to  her,  but  thoy 
met,  and  in  return  she  loved  him  with  all  ner  heart,  and 
soon  afterward— determined  not  to  be  baffled— he  aidea 
her  and  a  female  friend,  an  attendant  in  the  temple,  to 
escape  with  him  to  Calcutta.  This  female  friend  was  sub- 
sequently the  cause  of  much  trouble.  She  was  treacher- 
ous and  deceitful,  and  tried  to  supplant  Ranee  in  the 
affections  of  her  lover.  Thinking  that  she  could  more 
easily  accomplish  her  purpose  by  becoming  a  Christian 
she  went  and  got  baptized  and  brought  him  the  mission- 
ary's certificate,  but  all  to  no  purpose.  Charles  Maidston 
looked  ux)ou  all  religions  as  superstition,  and  had  as  much 
reliance  \n  the  truth  of  ancient  Paganism  as  he  had  in 
that  of  the  modern  faith  of  Christianity. 

In  spite  of  every  effort  of  a  jealous  and  unscrupulous 
woman,  the  marriage  took  place.  I  never  saw  two  more 
happy  persons  in  my  life.  By  tluz  act  Ranee  lost  caste  and 
was  considered  by  many  as  degraded ;  while  Maheel,  her 
rival,  thorougiily  embittered,  left  the  city,  nursing  hor 
hatred  for  Ranee,  and  threatening,  no  doubt,  to  seek  an 
opportunity  for  revenge;  an  opportunity  for  which  she 
was  willing  to  wait  for  years. 

Some  time  afterward,  when  the  terrible  Sepoy  rebellion 
was  at  its  height,  this  same  woman,  Maheel,  was  an  aGtiv( 
agent  among  the  disaffected.  I  heard  of  her  in  many 
places,  and  I  know  that  she  did  her  best  to  entrap  Raurn 
and  her  husband  to  their  destruction.  When  the  rebellion 
was  overcome,  and  when  peace  prevailed  again,  I  sett!*  d 
in  Bombay,  and  I  was  glad  to  find  that  in  a  few  month - 
after  this,  my  friend  and  his  wife  had  been  Induced  to 
remove  to  that  city.  Charles  Maidston  was  «ngaged  in  an 
extensive  mercantile  business,  and  had  b^^en  very  prosper 


iiU« 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA.TH. 


373 


ous.  He  was  a  most  honorable  person,  but  rather  too 
conlifling  in  the  integrity  of  others.  During  a  period  of 
great  commereial  depression,  he  was  prompted  to  become 
responsible  to  a  large  amount  for  two  or  three  friends 
whom  he  wished  to  serve ;  a  crisis  came,  they  were  unable 
to  meet  their  payments,  they  left  the  country  in  a  clandes- 
tine manner,  and  he  was  financially  ruined.  Whether  he 
followed  them  (^r  not,  I  am  unable  to  say;  my  opinion  is 
that  he  must  have  done  so.  I  received  a  few  hasty  lines 
from  him,  stating  that  he  would  be  under  the  necessity  of 
leaving  India  for  a  time ;  he  went  away  without  troubling 
any  of  his  friends,  and  as  he  was  of  an  independent  si)irit, 
he  did  not  give  me  the  opportunity  of  making  any  effort  to 
serve  him.  I  subsequently  learned  thai  one  of  the  per- 
sons for  whom  he  had  gone  security  to  a  large  amount, 
liad  returned  to  England;  another,  an  American,  had  left 
for  the  United  States ;  it  is  quite  probable  that  he  followed 
one  or  the  other  of  these,  and  I  am  inclined  to  think  from 
some  singular  revelations  which  have  been  made  lately  to 
me,  that  he  is  in  the  country  at  the  present  time." 

During  this  narrative,  John  Valliant  must  have  again 
remembered  what  the  Pariah  had  told  him  in  India,  after 
he  had  been  snatched  from  the  grasp  of  Thugs  by  his 
friend  Maidston  ;  and  what  Zingari  had  said  to  him  on  the 
Heath.  He  had  already  been  instrumental  in  saving  the 
wife  of  him  who  had  rescued  him  in  India— ho  had  faced 
death  to  do  so— there  seemed  to  be  a  singular  coincidence 
in  all  this,  and  he  hada  strong  impression— even  a  belief— 
that  Zingari's  prediction  would  become  true,  and  that 
Charles  Maidston  would  yet  be  found  in  England. 

Ranee,  who  had  been  listening  attentively  to  what  Mr. 
V/iiinnt  had  related,  now  spoke,  and  stated  that  she  was 
satisfied  her  husband  was  then  in  some  part  of  Great 
Britain.  Before  he  left  home,  be  had  been  informed  that 
one  of  the  principal  persons  for  whom  he  had  gone  secu- 
rity, had  left  India,  and  had  been  heard  from  as  being  in 
London;  and  ho  shortly  afterward  sailed  from  Bonil)ay, 
determined,  if  possible,  to  find  out  this  persoB  ;  he  thought 


874 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


CU»i  s 


\w 


"i'\  m 


it  would  be  his  only  chance  of  over  obtaining  any  compen- 
sation for  the  great  loss  he  had  sustained. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Valiant,  resuming  his  narra- 
tive, "  shortly  after  my  friend  Mai<lston  had  left  India,  his 
wife  and  child— they  had  one  son  about  eight  years  of 
age— went  to  reside  with  some  of  her  friends  at  a  placo 
called  Kundallah,  the  resort  of  many  families  from  Bom- 
bay during  hot  weather.    About  this  time,  it  was  that  I 
met  with  a  severe  loss— the  greatest  affliction  of  my  life— 
my  wife  died;  and,  following  this  misfortune,  there  soon 
after  came  another.    As  I  had  many  difficulties  to  contend 
with,  I  sent  my  son  to  Egutpoora  to  remain  with  some  of 
his  mother's  relatives,  until  I  got  quietly  settled  again. 
But  such  was  not  to  be  the  case ;  the  great  domestic  loss  1 
liad  sustained,  caused  me  to  feel  dejected,  and  then  wh(Mi 
the  frightful  news  came  that  Edgar  had  been  made  aw;iy 
with  by  Thugs,  I  was  almost  totally  cast  down.    Day  after 
day  I  felt  that  I  was  losing  strength ;  and  my  health  be- 
came so  impaired,  that  I  was  earnestly  recommended  to 
leave  India  and  seek  restoration  in  another  climate.    After 
some  months'  delay,  I  decided  on  going  to  England.    I 
took  a  particular  interest  in  this  country — not  because  it 
happened  to  be  the  land  of  my  birth,  but  it  was  the  scone 
of  some  of  my  earliest  and  most  agreeable  associations, 
and  because,  to  my  mind,  it  was  the     great    central  point 
from  which  Liberty  had  started  on  its  triumphal  marcli 
throughout  the  world.    But  the  greatest  inducement  wa-^, 
that  I  might  find  my  son ;   for,  from  what  I  had  boon 
informed,  I  had  reason  to  believe  that  he  had  been  taken 
to  this  country ;  besides,  there  was  a  probability  that  I 
might  come  across  my  friend  Maidston.    However,  I  must 
at  present  say  no  more  about  myself. 

It  seems  that,  from  the  day  of  Ranee's  marriage, 
almost  to  the  hour  that  her  husband  left  the  country, 
Maheel  never  for  a  moment  forj^ot  her  evil  mission ;  sho 
must  have  had  eyes  and  ears  in  every  direction  to  tell  hor 
of  an  opportunity  for  mischief.  She  was  not  sorry  to  hoar 
that  Maidston  had  been  unfortunate  in  business ;  she  was 


THE   HRATIIENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


:{75 


rejoiced  to  learn  that  Ranee  had  bc«  u  left  boluiul— she 
strongly  hoi)od  that  slie  had  been  deserted— and  as  she 
luid  somehow  become  possessed  of  abundant  means  to 
aid  her  in  a  wicked  purpose,  she  decided  to  follow  him  to 
this  country,  in  the  expectation  that  she  could,  after  all, 
win  his  affections,  and  prevail  on  him  to  forget  the  wife 
whom  she  thought  he  might  be  deairous  of  forsaking. 
Whnt  ^an  surpass  the  intense  hate  of  a  neglected  woman  ? 
Were  Maheei  a  Christian,  she  would  havo  shed  Ranee's 
blood ;  l3ut  as  Maheei  was  still  a  boli  ver  in  Christna,  she 
wotild  seek  the  destry  tion  of  her  rival  by  other  means. 
She  would  steal  Ranee'i^  hated  offi^i)ring,  and  send  him  to 
slavery,  and  break  his  mother's  heart,  or  rob  her  of  her 
r^nison.  Maheei  commenced  at  once  to  execute  her  de- 
sign;  she  had  her  spies  at  hand,  she  h{!  1  been  informed 
that  a  boy,  supposed  to  be  Ranee's  -on,  had  been  left  at 
Egutpoora,  and  as  Ranee  had  been  there  some  time  before 
that  on  a  visit,  she  hastened  to  the  place ;  she  had  had  a 
description  of  the  boy,  and  as  Edgar  must  have  had  some 
resemblance  to  Hemar,  she  mistook  my  son  for  the  otner, 
and  took  him  away.  She  must  havo  soon  discovered  her 
error,  but  to  make  sure,  she  i)laced  Edgar  in  the  keeping 
of  some  of  her  confederates,  and  then  she  followed  Ranee 
to  Kundaliah,  She  loitered  around  there  several  days 
before  an  opportunity  served  her;  at  last,  by  means  of 
accomplices,  she  secured  the  boy,  and  kept  him  hidden 
for  some  months,  not  for  the  sake  of  any  reward  that 
might  be  offered,  but  for  the  imrpose  of  seeing  whal  effect 
it  would  have  ui)on  the  health  and  spirits  of  her  she 
wished  to  injure ;  she  also  had  it  circulated  tiiat  Ch.irles 
Maidston  had  gone  to  the  United  States,  and  that  he  had 
met  with  his  death  there  in  an  encounter  with  the  Ameri- 
can that  had  despoiled  him. 

These  rei)orts,  as  well  as  the  loss  of  her  child,  had  a 
very  severe  effect  upon  the  health  of  Ranee;  a  nervous 
ff'ver  was  the  result,  from  which  she  narrowly  escaped, 
indeed  it  was  asperte<l  that  one  of  her  nurses— an  emissary 
of  Maheel's-had  been  detected  while  in  the  act  of  tani- 


X 


'  . 


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^^^.Wc 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photogiaphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WK7  MAIN  STRUT 

WfBSTIR.N.Y.  145S0 

(716)872-4503 


^ 


37(i 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HKATH. 


periug  with  the  medicine ;  a  deadly  drug  might  have  been 
administered  were  it  not  for  the  unusual  precautions 
which  had  been  taken  when  suspicion  had  been  awakened. 
However,  while  she  was  still  in  a  very  weak  condition, 
good  newo  came  at  last,  a  letter  was  received  which  in- 
formed her  that  her  husband  was  safe  in  England,  that  he 
was  still  in  quest  of  one  of  the  persons— the  principal 
one— by  whom  he  had  been  such  a  loser;  that  he  had 
hopes  of  recovering  much  of  what  had  been  lost,  and  that 
as  he  did  not  intend  to  return  to  India,  she  and  Hemar 
should  sail  as  soon  as  possible  for  England;  he  even 
directed  her  to  stop  at  a  certain  place  in  Betnall,  the  par- 
ish adjoining  this,  and  that  he  would  meet  them  there  as 
soon  as  his  business  permitted. 

A  little  before  this  time  I  sailed  from  Bombay,  I  had  pre- 
viously exhausted  every  effort  to  discover  my  son,  and  had 
offered  an  ample  reward  to  whomsoever  would  restore 
him ;  yet  I  had  been  not  long  over  a  month  out  of  the 
country  before  he  was  taken  to  Eundallah  and  delivered 
by  a  stranger  to  Ranee.  She  had  heard  of  my  loss,  though 
I  had  not  been  informed  of  hers;  unaccountable  circum- 
stances, or  perhaps  Maheel's  ingenuity  prevented  this; 
however,  she  took  good  care  of  Edgar,  he  loves  her  al- 
most as  well  as  if  she  was  his  mother,  and  as  she  was 
unable  to  correspond  with  me,  not  knowing  where  I 
was,  she  brought  hin*  with  ner  here,  even  to  be  wrecked  in 
Pendall  Bay ;  yet  she  is  fully  entitled  to  an  ample  reward, 
and  the  recompense  which  I  trust  I  shall  be  able  to  give, 
will  be  to  restore  her  son." 

Eanee  brightened  up  at  this  intelligence,  and  kissed  the 
hand  of  him  who  had  made  her  auch  a  promise.  "She 
knows  all  about  it,"  continued  Mr.  Valiant,  "  I  told  her 
this  morning  on  the  lawn  that  Maheel  had  been  on  the 
Heath,  and  had  left  a  boy  there  called  Hemar,  who  I  am 
satisfied  is  the  son  of  my  friend;  he  is  in  safe  hands  at 
present,  and  we  shall  all  go  there  to-morrow  and  see  for 
ourselves;  and  almost  everything  that  I  have  just  told 
you  about  our  good  friend  Banee,  I  have  had  from  her 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


877 


own  lips  since  she  had  been  here— but  let  me  tell  you  all. 
When  Maheel  had  made  her  escape  with  Hemai,  she  took 
him  to  Bombay  and  passed  him  off  as  her  nephew,  she 
went  to  a  missionary  and  had  him  baptized,  and,  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  convert  to  Christianity  she  was  re-baptized 
herself.  She  told  the  missionary  a  singular  story  concern- 
ing persecutions  which  she  said  she  had  suffered  on 
account  of  her  change  of  faith,  and,  as  the  missionary  was 
on  the  point  of  returning  to  Europe,  he  was,  like  others  of 
his  class,  no  doubt  desirous  of  exhibiting  such  spiritual 
trophies  in  England,  and  was  therefore  only  too  ready  to 
accede  to  her  proposal  to  be  taken  to  this  country.  Upon 
their  arrival,  however,  he  waa  greatly  aggravated ;  Maheel 
and  the  boy  had  suddenly  disappeared,  and  he  has  not 
seen  them  since. 

One  of  Maheel's  accomplices  in  this  vile  business  was 
subsequently  induced  to  reveal  all  she  knew  of  the  matter 
to  Ranee,  and  I  am  satisfied  that  much  of  the  information 
thus  obtained  will  turn  out  to  be  correct.  Maheel  is  still 
I  believe  in  this  country;  she  is  still  bent  on  evil,  she 
must  be  watched.  I  have  those  of  her  race  on  the  Heath 
that  will  look  closely  after  her.  If  she  now  finds  out 
Ranee  is  in  England  she  will  work  and  plot  to  effect  a 
malicious  purpose,  and  in  her  desperation  may  commit 
some  more  atrocious  act  than  that  of  which  she  has  al- 
ready been  guilty." 

'*  I  am  not  afraid  of  the  woman,"  said  Ranee, "  if  I  have 
got  clear  of  her  so  long,  I  now  feel  more  confident,  sur- 
rounded as  I  am  by  true  friends.  I  have  already  encoun- 
tered many  difficulties,  and  as  you  too  well  know,  have  but 
just  escaped  a  terrible  danger  to  get  even  to  this  place.  I 
have  no  fear  of  her;  my  poor  boy  though  long  in  her 
power  has  been  singularly  protected,  he  is  now  you  say, 
safe  out  of  her  grasp.  I  shall  see  my  child  again,  my  own 
dear  little  Hemar.  Oh,  what  happiness  to  find  him  again  i 
I  have  had  months  of  torture  thirking  of  him-Hsad,  sad 
days,  and  dreary,  restless  nights— and  to  meet  with  my  poor 
boy  once   more,  after  all   this  intense  mental  angjish 


1 

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378 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


,€■> 


will  be  a  sufficient  recompense  for  what  I  have  sufferod. ' 
"You  shall  have  that  great  pleasure  to-morrow,"  said 
Mr.  Valiant,  "  be  patient  until  then.  I  would  not  have 
told  you  of  this  until  I  had  made  sufficient  inquiries,  and 
was  confident  you  would  not  be  disappointed.  The  boy 
nov;  on  the  Heath  with  good  old  Zingari  is  yours.  I  might 
have  told  you  this  when  we  landed  from  the  vreck,  even 
at  the  moment  you  restored  my  son  Edgar,  but  I  waited  to 
be  better  assured ;  now  I  am  positive,  and  it  may  not  be 
long  before  you  also  meet  with  his  father  " 

"Yes,  yes,  you  shall  all  moot  again,  you  shall,"  said  the 
curate  whose  sympathies  caused  him  to  venture  this  as- 
sertion, and  tears  almost  blinded  his  eyes  as  he  uttered 
the  words. 

Esther  stooped  over  Banee  in  an  affectionate  man  nor 
and  said  something  as  if  to  confirm  what  her  father  had 
so  impulsively  promised.  The  murmur  of  her  voice  ought 
to  have  had  a  wonderfully  soothing  effect,  it  was  always 
like  lulling  melody,  but  now  it  seems  to  startle  one  per- 
son present.  Why  was  it  that  Ranee  stood  up  so  suddenly  ? 
8he  stepped  back  and  gazed  at  Esther  whose  features  wore 
a  beautiful  glow,  while  the  red  light  of  the  fading  day  flllod 
the  whole  apartment.  "  The  very  tone  of  his  voice,"  said 
Ranee  appealing  to  John  Vali.'int,  "and  look;  his  very 
smile !  I  noticed  this  when  I  first  saw  her.  How  wonder- 
ful! See,  is  there  not  a  most  striking  resemblance?" 
She  then  pulled  out  a  portrait  from  her  bosom— the  por- 
trait of  her  husband— and  exhibited  it  before  them  all. 
Esther  glanced  at  it  and  uttered  an  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise ;  the  curate  looked  at  it  closely  for  a  moment  or  two, 
and  then  turning  to  Ranee  he  seized  her  hands  in  delight 
and  cried  out:  "Good  God!  it  is  the  face,  the  very  face 
of  my  son  Charles  I " 


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ll> 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

A  RAD  END. 

ll^HILE  Mr.  Moado  and  his  friend  still  remained  in 
'*       earnest  conversation  in  tlie   little   parlor  of  the 
parsonage,  it  became  night;   not  a  night  of  black  darlc- 
ness,  but  one  sufficiently  gloomy  and  windy  to  cause  those 
who  were  obliged  to  travel  to  wish  that  they  were  near 
their  journey's  end.    Heavy  gusts  swept  across  the  Bay, 
and  rushed  moaning  through  the  scattered  trees,  and 
thence  onward,  occasionally  in  vast  circles  as  if  chasing 
one  another,  along  the  sterile  plain  until  they  passed  the 
most  distant  and  elevated  headland  that  gave  a  full  view 
of  the  ocean.    It  was  a  bleak  night  for  a  traveler,  or  for 
any  homeless  creature  that  had  no  welcome  to  a  iriendly 
shelter;  and  such  a  creature — a  forlorn  looking  woman- 
was  out  this  time  on  a  highway  close  to  the  coast,  and 
fully  ten  miles  from  Pendell;  and  her  face  was  turned 
toward  the  parish  of  Betnall.    She  limped  now  and  then 
as  if  getting  footsore  or  very  weary,  yet  still  she  toiled  along 
laboriously  upon  the  lonely  highway— lonely  and  alone- 
no,  not  alone ;  she  carried  a  bundle  in  her  arms— an  infant 
—and  when  she  came  to  a  rivulet  that  crossed  the  roa<l  in 
a  kind  of  ravine,  she  laid  her  bundle  down  close  to  a  tree, 
and  went  and  scooped  up  some  water  in  Ler  hand,  and 
drank  by  this  means  until  she  was  satisfied.    She  looked 
around  leisurely;   she  seemed  to  know  the  place,  and 
stood  listening  attentively  as  if  for  footstei)s  ;  but  no  such 
sounds  cume,  she  only  heard  the  wind,  and  at  intervals 


...i3ltt 

■ml 


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f.-j 


-1 


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1 1  If 


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Ml  I't 


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Mi 


380 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HBATU. 


when  that  spent  itself,  she  could  hear  the  gurgling  of  ilic 
little  stream. 

The  child  was  very  quiet  and  while  it  slept  so  peacefully, 
its  mother— for  this  woman  was  the  mother— went  toward 
an  old  ruin  which  stood  at  a  short  distance.  This  dilapi 
dated  structure— the  scene  of  many  a  bloody  struggle- 
was  roofless ;  it  had  a  great  gaping  arched  doorway  in 
front,  as  forbidding  in  the  night  as  the  wide  entrance  to  u 
sepulchral  vault ;  and  the  ivy  and  wild  vines  that  clung  to 
the  walls  in  dense  profusion,  completely  hid  the  spact»s 
originally  left  for  windows. 

The  woman  was  not  afraid  to  stand  in  the  gloomy 
entrance  and  to  look  in  at  the  darkness ;  she  had  proba- 
bly been  there  before.  She  went  in  and  groped  in  one  of 
the  corners  with  her  hand,  but  she  discovered  nothing  in 
the  pile  of  stones  that  lay  inside;  if  she  expected  to  flnrl 
anything  there,  or  to  see  or  hear  anybody  in  or  near  the 
place  she  was  disappointed;  and  she  felt  so.  She  went 
back  and  lifted  her  bundle  and  placed  it  in  a  sheltered  spot 
near  the  doorway;  she  sat  close  by,  stooped  over,  with 
her  head  leaning  on  her  hands,  in  deep  thought,  perhaps 
brooding  over  her  condition;  her  dark  hair  hung  negli- 
gently upon  her  shoulders,  an  old  shawl  was  carelessly 
thrown  around  her,  and  her  dress  was  patched  and  torn 
in  several  places.  She  was  young— far  yet  from  thirty ;  she 
was  weak  and  had  evidently  suffered  from  sickness  or 
destitution.  Why  does  she  sit  here?  Is  that  vault-like 
recess  behind  her  the  only  place  of  shelter  she  can  find  ? 
and  is  that  stream  her  only  scource  of  refreshment  ?  She 
now  lif^s  her  bundle— the  child  is  still  quiet— she  opens  it 
a  little,  she  feels  lonely  and  almost  alone,  and  wishes  to 
hear  the  least  sound  of  anything  that  has  life,  even  the 
breathing  of  the  child ;  but  now  she  cannot  hear  this.  Is 
it  because  of  the  moaning  of  the  wind  ?  She  stoops  closer. 
Ha  1  She  hurriedly  opens  the  bundle— the  infant  moves 
not;  the  woman  gives  a  sharp  cry,  she  is  now  indeed 
alone,  for  the  child  is  dead.  She  still  waits— stooped 
closer  yet,  waiting  or  wishing  for  life  to  return— it  comes 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATU. 


381 


not  silt  airti'ts  ui)  and  with  a  wild  stare  loolts  aioiind  once 
mote— a,  pitiful  pleading  look— and  again  she  liftfl  the 
infantas  If  to  be  fully  wssured.  '*  Dead,  dead— better  dead 
than  aliv6,*'  mu  tered  the  woman  solemnly,  "  better  dead 
with  so  little  suffering,  than  to  live  and  suffer  much. 
But  /le  shall  suffer  more  than  thou  hast.  I  don't  want  to 
wake  thee,  child,  stay  dead  as  thou  art.  Death  will  be  more 
of  life  to  thee  than  life  ever  was.  Thou  wert  neglected  by 
all  but  me.  Yet  alas!  I  could  not  give  thee  proper  nour- 
ishment. Thou  hast  sucked  in  my  sorrow,  and  it  poisoned 
thee ;  would  that  tho  same  could  free  me  to  follow.  Aye, 
stay  dead ;  he  that  should  have  owned  thee  wouid  have 
abandoned  thee— thou  wert  with  me  abandoned.  Stay 
dead  poor  little  creature— would  that  I  were  away  with 
thee!  Poor  tiling,  thou  never  didst  any  harm— and  yet 
death  came— 'twas  thy  best  friend.  Thou  wert  not  long 
here  to  learn  evil— /le  would  have  taught  thee  evil.  Thou 
art  now  in  heaven  where  he  shall  never  go— never !  Thou 
Tuightst  ha\e  lived  to  learn  evil  ways  from  him  as  others 

have  learned  them;  but  he  cannot  harm  thee  now.  He  would 
wisli  thee  dead  ;  yet  he  may  not  know  that  thou  art  gone 

until  he  sees  thee  as  a  star  in  glory  from  the  black  regions 

of  the  condemned."    She  pressed  her  hands  to  the  sides 

of  her  head  as  if  \o  keep  down  some   more   agitating 

thought.    "Yes,  better  dead  than  to  be  disowned;  better 

that  I  were  as  thou  art  than  to  be  degraded  for  having 

become  a  mother  by  such  a  man  as  the  heartless  rector  of 

15etnali.    A  mother  who  has  had  no  husband  is  nothing 

l)ut  an  abandoned  wretch,  scarcely  tit  to  live;  so  the  pious 

of  tile  rector's  congregation  say.  O  Christian  charity !  But 

is  he  fit  to  live  if  I  am  not ;  he  the  treacherous  seducer. 

i'c^s,  they  will  bid  him  live,  they  will  hear  him  pray  and 

l)reach— they  will  overlook  his  sin— but  I,  poor  abandoned 

creature,  cannot  be  forgiven.    Ah!  John  Rockett,  thou 

Shalt  die  some  time— perhaps  thy  end  may  be  near— if  so, 

God  have  mercy  on  thee,  thou  hast  much  to  answer  for ; 

k<^ep  thy  prayers  for  thyself  thou  wilt  need  them  all. 

Thou  hast  brought  many  a  poor  creature  to  sham©  aad 


n^m 

i  . .   L,    Mm 

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382 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


distress ;  if  I  can  iirevent  it  thou  shalt  do  so  no  lonpor ;  I 
have  kept  thy  secret  only  too  faithfully,  yet  thou  wouldst 
let  me  starve.  I  have  withheld  my  hand,  but  now  I  shall 
strike,  I  shall  expose  thee  before  the  world,  in  thy  very 
church  if  I  can  steal  in—so  Parson  Rockett  prepare." 

She  was  now  much  excited,  she  pressed  her  hands 
again  to  the  sides  of  her  head,  and  stooped  down  to  look 
at  the  features  of  her  dead  child.  She  remained  in  this 
position  for  several  minutes,  and  though  her  eyos  seenn  I 
fixed  upon  the  placid  features  of  the  infant,  her  thoughts 
were  away  with  the  past. 

Sh©  remembered  that  it. was  but  little  over  two  years 
since  she  had  left  the  fireside  of  her  parents,  the  quid, 
humble  home  of  her  honest  father  to  go  into  the  service 
of  the  Rev.  John  Rocket,  rector  of  Betnall.  How  partial 
the  rector  had  always  been  to  her.  He  had  seen  her  at 
church  and  had  noticed  hor  tidiness  and  good  looks,  and 
would  have  her  for  a  servant.  How  satisfied  her  mother 
was  to  let  her  go,  it  was  lucky  to  get  such  a  fine  place ;  sho 
would  learn  her  catechism  better,  and  she  of  course  would 
have  to  attend  church  more  regularly,  and  learn  lessons 
of  strict  morality  in  a  minister's  dwelling ;  this  was  what 
her  indulgent  mother  had  imagined.  But  how  different 
had  been  her  experience  in  the  apostolic  mansion ;  riotiii;:? 
and  drunkenness,  a  disorderly  household,  debauchery  and 
a  neglected  and  abused  wife.  Then  came  the  fiend  to 
whisper  avowals  and  promises  that  he  never  fulfilled,  and 
then  followed  her  seduction,  and  heartless  abandonment.* 


h-- 


*  The  following  is  an  extract  from  the  New  Yoi  ,c  World,  Nov.  1873 
See  Note  16  for  further  particulars  of  clerical  frailty. 

A  sad  clerical  scandal  was  attracting  attention  in  London.  Tlio 
Rev.  John  Reed  was  being  tried  before  Sir  R.  Phillimoro,  in  the  Court 
of  Arches,  upon  a  criminal  charge  at  the  in^stance  of  the  Bishop  of 
Exeter,  for  soliciting  the  chastity  of  four  young  women  who  hinl 
been  employed  as  domestics  in  his  family.  The  accused  is  tne  Vi<'.ii 
of  Tregony,  in  Cornwall.  He  was  fifty-eight  years  old  ;  he  hail 
been  charged  with  simony,  in  buying  the  living  in  ih65,  nnd  he  <\k\ 
not,  enter  upon  it  until  1868.  He  wife  was  an  invalid,  and  ocou  pied  h 
separate  bedroom.  The  evidence  was  quite  unfit  for  publi<'ation, 
but.  nevortheless,  eom  e  of  the  London  papers  were  printing  it  at 
lengtb. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


383 


So  far  she  had  wandered  back  into  the  dreary  past.  What 
was  to  be  her  future  among  Christian  people  who  upheld 
social  laws  so  shamefully  partial,  unjust  and  oppressive  ? 
8he  dared  not  look  upon  the  bleak,  hopeless  aspect  of  the 
time  to  come.  She  had  scarely  a  hope  left;  she  would 
only  be  a  poor  despised  thing,  shunned  and  maligned 
even  by  the  ostentatiously  devout  of  her  own  sex  whose 
sin  was  better  concealed.  And  she  would  be  pointed  at  by 
(dmrch  going  matrons  as  a  living  text  for  a  domestic  lec- 
ture on  natural  depravity. 

These  reflections  brought  her  almost  to  the  brink  of 
despair.  What  had  she  now  to  live  for  ?  She  would  fain 
embrace  death ;  but  still  she  would  not  die,  she  must  live 
yet  longer,  she  had  a  duty  to  perform,  a  disclosure  to 
make,  a  frail  revenge  to  accomplish,  and  then  she  cared 
not  for  existence.  Impressed  witli  these  ideas  she  started 
up,  her  look  was  determined,  she  bared  her  right  arm  and 
gazed  at  it  thoughtfully.  **Thin  and  wan,  skin  and  bone, 
to  what  it  used  to  be,  but  still  strong  enough  for  the  work 
I  havt/  to  do  when  I  have  settled  with  him.  O !  God,  that 
I  should  ever  think  of  taking  my  own  life ;  that  my  friends, 
if  I  have  one  left— should  have  to  drag  for  my  body  in  a 
pond,  or  search  for  it  at  the  bottom  of  a  cliff,  or  wait  until 
the  tide  throws  it  up  among  seaweeds  on  the  beach.  O 
God!  what  an  end  to  all  my  expectations." 

Having  muttered  this  she  bound  her  dishevelled  hair, 
folded  the  old  shawl  around  hei,  and  before  she  lifted  the 
bundle  she  went  once  more  into  the  vault-like  place  and 
soon  returned. 

•'  Not  a  shilling  there,  nothing  left  to  screen  us  from 
the  cold  blast,  not  a  mouthful  of  bread  for  us  to  eat— for 
us?  alas  I  not  for  us— for  me  alone."  She  had  for  the 
moment  forgotten  that  the  child  was  dead.  "  He  prom- 
ised to  send  something  Uere,  but  he  has  failed  to  do  so  as 
he  did  before;  the  crurjbs  of  his  table  would  be  of  some 
help  now,  but  the  brute  forgets  us— I  shall  not  forget  him, 
I  shall  see  his  wife  to-morrow,  and  I  shall  expose  him  ou 
Sunday  in  the  presence  of  his  congregation— I  will."    She 


n    , 


l^» 


>   :;■ 


If'  '■  1 


€m   i 


t. 


ii  I 


1  I 


fS'i  '- 

I  if 


;.     15 


III 


384 


TUE  H£ATU£NS  OF  THE  HEATH 


hurriedly  lifted  up  tlie  bundle;  her  resolution  gave  hop 
fresh  strength,  slie  had  again  forgotten  that  the  child  whs 
dead ;  but  soon  the  terrible  truth  came,  and  when  she  felt 
its  now  stiffened  limbs  she  staggered  under  the  trilling 
burden  and  had  to  lean  against  a  tree. 

"I  shall  take  thee  to  him  at  once— this  very  night  if  1 
can— and  then,  O,  God !  must  I  take  thee  to  thy  grave 
alone." 

"No,  not  alone,"  said  a  voice  close  to  her  side,  "not 
a-">ne,  you  shall  have  one  to  follow.  Let  me  go  with  you, 
I  want  to  see  a  grave,  I  want  to  see  where  the  dead  lie, 
and  how  they  rest,  so  that  I  shall  feel  better  able  if  need 
be  to  add  another  to  their  number." 

The  woman  was  startled ;  she  fancied  that  some  poor, 
crazed  creature  had  made  her  escape  from  the  prison 
workhouse  not  far  distant.  The  one  who  had  so  suddenly 
addressed  her  was  a  dark  haired,  dark  featured  woman, 
whose  wild  expression  caused  her  black  eyes  to  almost 
flash  in  the  gloom.  She  was  wrapt  in  a  large  cloak,  and 
was  greatly  excited. 

"  Let  me  go  with  you,  I  shall  help  you.  I  may— I  shciil 
want  your  help  in  return.  You  want  revenge,  so  do  I.  I 
heard  what  you  said,  let  me  help  you.  I  have  money  and 
can  pay  you.  You  know  this  place.  I  want  you  to  be  my 
guide.  I  want  you  to  tell  me  of  some  I  seek.  Are  they 
here,  tell  me  ?  Don't  look  so  afraid,  I  am  now  a  Thug, 
but  I  won't  hurt  you.    See,  here  is  gold." 

She  held  out  a  gold  piece  in  her  hand,  but  the  other 
woman  hesitated  to  touch  it. 

"Take  It,  you  want  it  more  than  I  do;  there  is  plenty 
more  in  this,"  said  she,  exhibiting  a  purse,  "I  may  not 
want  it  long." 

"Let  me  carry  your  bundle."  3he  went  toward  the 
woman,  but  when  she  saw  the  fa'^e  of  the  dead  child  in 
the  murky  light,  she  drew  quickly  back.  "Hal  I  would 
rather  not  touch  the  dead— our  Sudras  do  thT,t.  You  are 
a  Christian,  and  care  not.  Yet,  I  would  touch  it,  if  i  could 
but  restore  the  life  it  has  lost.    Vf  hy  weep  for  your  child  ? 


:?ia 


THE   IIKATUENH  OF  TIIK   IIIIATH. 


385 


'You  t».ro  H  Clirislhin,  and  you  havo  tlio  promise  ret'onled 
in  your  j^rcat  book,  that  llio  i)rayor  of  laltli  can  reani- 
mate. Havo  you  i'aitli  in  that  [)ro!nise  ?  If  1  were  a 
Christian,  ami  had  faitli,  I  would  raise  tliat  dead  e')ii(i. 
(Cannot  you  do  bO?  Havo  you  ever  seen  tlie  dead  raised 
,tlirou,L,di  faitli— has  anybody?  You  will  not  reply.  Alas! 
ilike  others,  you  doubt,  and  like  others,  you  believe.  Prove 
that  one,  even  one,  has  ever  been  restored  by  faith,  and  I 
too  shall  be  a  (Christian.  Prove  it,  and  l)y  that  same  faith 
I  shall  confound  my  enemies ;  I  shall  use  that  power  witli 
;as  little  mercy  as  Peter  used  it  when  he  struck  down  Ana- 
aiias  and  Sjipi>hira.  Wonderi'ul  i)romise,  wonderful  faith, 
wonderful  failures ;  and  it  still  remains  for  you  and  i>thers 
'the  same  wonderful  delusion.  Woman,  wee[)  on,  but  your 
.lead  cannot  revive !  Come  let  us  lay  it  in  its  ^'rave ;  let  us 
be  the  sole  mourners.  Seldom  has  pity  found  a  p'aco  in 
my  heart,  but  I  can  pity  you,  thouj^h  many  C'hristians  will 
aot.  You  are  no  sinner  in  my  eyes— you  have  been  sinned 
ii,t,'ainst.  You  are  not  a  i>ollut(»d  thinu",  and  if  I,  with  an 
Iron  heart,  can  compassionate  you,  be  j;s-.ured  that  Uw 
threat  Creator  will  be  far  more  willing  to  do  the  same. 
You  are  a  mother— a  mother— there  is  sometiiing  holy  in 
that  name,  it  is  tlie  ma;jfic  word  to  brinj,'  out  the  tenderest 
i^nnh  of  nature;  and  the  fountain  of  true  alfeelion  can 
never  completely  burst  out  and  overflow  until  touched  by 
the  maternal  hand.  O,  if  I  had  only  been  a  mother,  1 
inlj,dit  have  had  a  heart,  ami  I  mi-^ht  have  been  dilYerent 
now!  You  still  weei)— i)oor  thinj^!  If  I  stay  near  you 
much  lonj^'er,  tears  may  come  to  my  eyes  once  more,  and 
i  may  lose  my  power  to  hate,  and  become  human  a.t^ain. 
Yet  I  cannot  leave  you.  I  am  a  fiend— I  have  little 
.save  hatred  for  any  but  you.  Come,  come,  let  us  away 
♦vith  your  dead,  and  then  we  shall  deal  with  the  livin.^^" 

The  woman  still  leaned  a.tjainst  the  tree;  she  was  sob- 
hinj^  now,  and  her  comi)anion  gently  placed  a  hand  upon 
her  shoulder  and  led  her  from  the  s[>ot. 

"What  is  your  name?  You  won't  speak?  I  shall  tell 
you  mine;  I  am  Maheel—the  wicked  Maheel— I  am  wick- 


17 


t 


li' 

**» :  "  il 

«<«:,' 

I  I 

111 '      1 

M 

!:;iii:i  .t  ' 

i                i  ■ 

Iv      ' 

.  ! 
1   1 

I  i 

■  4  I 

'    m  I 


i>-  ti 


li 


■[■ 


v-  I 


I 

i 


Vr 


k 


?!'■■'- i 


386 


THE  HEATIII.NS  Of  TlIK  IIEATII. 


ecI.  1  have  been  dospised  by  the  only  one  I  over  lovod, 
and  now  I  have  h«ft  Clui.stna  the  bcnevolont  to  become, 
perhaps,  a  worsliipor  of  Siva  forover.  Even  worse  than 
that  I  shall  become  a  Christian  Thus,  and  be  as  hearllcss 
as  a  Puritan,  and  as  cruel  as  an  Inquisitor,  He  who  has 
rejected  me  shall  soon  knov/  this;  and  my  rival,  if  still 
alive,  she  whom  I  hate,  must  die.  Come,  let  us  leave  this 
—do  not  stare  at  me  as  if  I  were  Kali  herself,  I  will  never 
hurt  you.  Come  with  me  to  Betnall,  and  Maheel  will  be 
your  friend." 

In  a  few  minutes  they  got  to  the  top  of  a  hill.  Maheel 
led  her  companion  thus  far  without  any  resistance,  indeed 
it  was  the  direction  in  which  the  woman  wished  to  travel. 
Below  them  at  the  distance  of  about  half  a  mile  the  spiio 
of  the  parish  church  of  Betnall  could  be  dimly  secMi 
against  the  clouded  sky,  and  lights  were  yet  to  bo  seen  in 
many  of  the  houses,  one  of  which  in  particular  seemed  to 
attract  the  notice  of  Maheel's  com i •anion. 

"  Is  that  Betnall  ?  "  asked  Maheel. 

**  Yes,"  replied  the  woman,  "  that  is  Betnall." 

"  Do  you  know  many  there  ?  " 

After  a  pause  Maheel  was  answered:  "Yes,  one  too 
many." 

**  Where  does  your  mother  live  ?  " 

The  poor  woman  looked  down  with  the  aspect  of 
despair  and  slowly  muttered :  *'  In  heaven." 

•*Ha!"  exclaimed  Maheel,  "his  prayers  and  good 
works,  his  vile  treatment  of  you  did  that  also.  Where  ia 
the  tavern  ?  " 

"Away  to  the  right  of  the  church,"  said  the  woman,, 
indicating  the  direction,  not  by  pointing  with  the  linger,, 
but  with  a  significant  nod  of  her  head. 

"Shall  we  go  to  the  cemetery  first?  "asked  Maheel,. 
"  we  can  find  one  to  bury  this  child  for  you,  I  will  pay  for 
the  labor." 

**No,"  replied  the  woman  with  some  energy,  "I  sh;ill 
take  it  to  /tim,  he  shall  read  the  service  over  it  first  and 
bury  it  afterward.    He  has  the  best  right  to  do  this,  and  I 


WW 


'      a 


TllK   IIKATIIKNH  OF  TIIR   IIK/Vl'll. 


387 


wjint  his  whole  ('oii<^'ro<,'{ition  to  be  at  the  fuiicnil,  and  his 
wife  jiinoiiK  iho  mourners." 

"Sluill  I  K^)  with  you,"  asked  Muheel. 

"  No,  I  wish  to  uio  alone." 

*'  Maheol  was  silent  for  a  minute  and  then  said :  **  Well 
ufo  alono.     I  shall  meet  you  aj^ain.    But  tell  me,"  said  slir 
al'ter  some  hesitation,  "do  you  know  any  one  here  by  iIk 
name  of  Maidston  ?" 
"  No,  I  never  heard  the  name  before." 
"Weil,  I  shall  And  out  for  myself,  but  mind,  I  must  poo 
you  aj^ain,  you  may  be  able  to  servo  me,  and  I  (^aii  help 
you.    I  shall  perhaps  be  back  in  an  hour  or  two.    Meet 
me  at  the  tavern  if  you  ean  by  that  time — I  shall  Ilnd  it 
over  the  way  you  say,"  said  Maheel  pointing  toward  where 
she  supi)Osed  it  was. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  woman,  "go  in  that  direction  and 
you  will  see  the  sign  post." 

Maheel  then  muffled  herself  closely  up  and  partly  cov- 
ered her  face  in  the  folds  of  the  largo  cloak,  she  seemed 
anxious  to  remain  unknown  to  all  others,  and  before  she 
went  away  she  thrust  a  gold  piece  into  the  woman's  hand 
and  left  her,  and  just  then  the  clock  in  the  church  tower 
struck  eleven. 

Over  half  an  hour  from  this  time  when  the  night  grew 
darker  and  the  wind  much  higher,  the  liev.  John  liock  )tt, 
rector  of  Eetnall,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt,  clia[)lain  to  the 
bishop  of  Storkchester,  anothei*  clerical  friend,  and  two  of 
the  neighboring  gentry,  each  of  whonitoeui)honiize  might 
be  simply  called  a  bou  vlvant  in  his  own  way,  were  com- 
foilably  seated  around  a  table  in  the  large  dining  room  of 
the  rectory.  The  llev.  Mr.  Vanscourt  while  on  his  way  to 
take  possession  of  his  new  living  at  Pendell,  or  to  be  in 
stalled  as  rector  of  that  i)arish,  had  stopi)ed  to  spend  a 
day  or  two  with  his  friend  Rockett.  Perhaps  he  called 
to  get  a  little  spiritual  advice  from  a  pastor  of  so  much 
experience  in  holy  things ;  or,  as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Rockett 
was  known  to  be  a  sound  churchman,  and  a  great  cham- 
pion lor  biblical  authority,  it  might  bo  tiiat  the  newly 


t  i 


■:i 


■\       1 


I, 


1  , 


IJ 


_  * 

■ ' 

'1 

J 

■ 

ij 


J88 


THK  HEA.TUENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


^^m 

^^^n 

^^9  *" 

O^^^B 

■  1: 

M. 

iilBmj'i  •' 

I 

I;  ,- 

appointed  rector  wished  to  x3onverse  witli  liis  more  ortho- 
dox  brother  in  order  to  get  rid  of  u  score  or  two  of  dam- 
ning doubts  on  the  subject  of  scriptural  inspiration,  and 
scriptural  contradictions,  lest  the  faith  of  the  simple  and 
unsuspecting  believers  at  Pendell  might  be  contaminated 
by  false  teaching,  or  by  the  theories  or  exi)lanation.s  of 
modern  science.  So  far  the  rector  and  his  friends  had  had 
a  jolly  time  of  it.  In  ho  fore  part  of  the  day  there  was  a 
cock  fight  in  the  back  yard,  and  within  an  hour  and  a  half 
parson  Eockott's  best  game  bird,  for  which  he  had 
paid  a  large  sum,  had  disabled  two  of  his  antagonists,  and 
killed  two  others.  During  dinner  the  conversation  had 
been  lively,  and  though  nothing  had  been  ^aid  about 
the  condition  of  the  heathen  world,  or  the  progress  of 
religion,  the  p  irson  had  a  more  absorbing  subject,  he  was 
fierce  in  his  denunciations  of  the  attempts  to  disestablish 
the  Church  in  Ireland,  inferring  that  as  soon  as  the  emis- 
saries of  Satan  had  accomplished  their  purpose  in  the 
Sister  Isle  a  rei)etition  of  the  infamous  measure  would 
be  introduced  in  England.  He  had  no  particular  com- 
plaint to  make  respecting  any  fresh  predatory  incursions 
from  the  Heath,  but  he  spoke  in  diyparagement  of  the 
democratic  notions  of  John  Valiant,  the  wealthy  proprie- 
tor of  the  Mayston  estate,  and  alluded  to  him  as  being  a 
kind  of  pagan  or  infidel  who  could  show  the  barbarians 
around  him  the  shortest  cut  to  hell ;  who  cared  nothing  for 
religion,  and  who  Dover  heard  a  prayer  uttered  from  June 
to  January.  '*  I  don't  suppose  they  care  much  for  prayer 
on  the  Heath,"  said  Mr.  Vanscourt,  "  like-  Mr.  Tyndall  and 
other  such  daring  fellows,  they  believe  thoy  can  get  along 
well  enough  without  it.  In  fact  you  know,  Rockett,  that 
many  of  ourselves  begin  to  doubt  whether  prayer  is  of  any 
benefit,  and  some  of  the  bishops  begin  to  grumble  at  our 
remissness  in  this  respect; *  however  during  the  late  har- 

•  In  a  letter  da^^ed  Decenibor  24th.  1872,  addressed  by  the  Archbis* 
nop  of  Canterbury,  to  the  Ari'hdoacon  of  Canterbury  and  Maidstone, 
the  Primate  expresses  surprise  that  the  clergy  ffenerally  have  not  made 
use  of  tlie  prayers  subscribed  in  the  Liturgy  of  the  Chur'^h  of  Eng- 
land for  seasons  of  excessive  rain.    His  Grace  trusts  that,  if  we  have 


m 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


389 


vest  we  were  urged  in  behalf  of  many  of  our  agricultural 
friends,  to  offer  prayers  in  the  Cathedral  for  fine  weather 
even  the  bishop  himself  said  *  amen '  among  the  rest ;  but 
no  fine  days  came  except  an  odd  Sunday,  and  then  of 
course  none  dare  work ;  instead  of  that,  we  had  rain,  rain, 
rain  nearly  every  day  for  a  month.  Speaking  of  the 
Heath,  how  is  your  good  old  friend,  the  gypsy  woman- 
old  Zingari— of  course  you  can't  forget  her." 

"O,  the  Jezebel,"  said  Mr.  Rockott,  in  a  rather  excited 
manner,  "I  know  that  old  wretch  too  well.  She's  a  fit 
harpy  for  John  Valiant  and  his  vile  gang ;  she's  an  impos- 
tor, an  infernal  old  witch  that  ought  to  be  sent  post-haste 
to-" 

"That's  it.  Jack!"  interrupted  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vans- 
court,  who  perceived  that  the  copious  draughts  of  brandy 
and  water  which  the  rector  had  swallowed,  had  already 
produced  something  more  than  a  stimulating  effect,  and 
he  wished  to  banter  him  a  little  for  the  sake  of  amusement. 
"  That's  it  Jack,  hurry  her  off  in  true  scriptural  style ;  you 
know  the  sentence  pronounced  against  such  reptiles — it  is 
ill  fact  a  Divine  command — '  Thou  shalt  not  suffer  a  witch 
to  live,  these  are  the  very  words,  so  be  off  and  make  away 
with  her.  Ah,  but  now  that  I  remember,'*  continued  ho 
in  subdued  voice,  "she  is  not  the  kind  of  witch  that  you 
prefer  to  deal  with.  If  report  be  true  you  are  a  good 
judge  of  the  sort  of  witches  that  used  to  fascinjite  our 

a  continuance  of  the  unusually  wet  weather  which  has  prevailed  of 
late,  and  which  has  put  a  stop  to  agricultural  operations  in  many 
f  4  of  the  country,  the  clergy  in  the  Archdeaconry  will  notfi'ilto 
.  ake  use  of  the  prayer  wherever  the  circumstances  of  the  district  ap- 
pear to  call  for  it. 

During  the  late  cattle  plague  in  England,  the  Bishop  cf  Lincoln  or- 
dered the  following  prayer  to  be  used  in  the  churches  of  his  diocese. 
Unfortunately  for  the  owners  of  the  cattle  the  prayer  proved  of  very 
little  service. 

"Almighty  God,  who  has  made  all  things  on  earth  for  man,  and 
dost  save  both  man  and  beast,  we  thank  thee  for  the  blessings  we 
receive  from  thee  in  the  creatures  of  thy  hand,  and  we  pray  thee  to 
restore  to  health  those  among  them  which  are  diseased,  and  to  stay 
this  plague  anu  sickness  of  our  cattle,  so  that  we  may  use  thy  gilts 
with  joyful  hearts  to  our  comfort  and  thy  glory,  through  Jt^s.js  Christ 
3ur  Lord.— Amen."     Loudon  p apcr,  1872. 


*  I 


■^•iil 


1  ii 

:  ]  j 

m 


390 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


illustrious  friend  Solomon  in  the  olden  time— that  was  the 
age  you  ought  to  have  lived  in,  Jack.  The  purists  are 
down  on  you  now  because  it  is  hinted  that  you  deal  with 
only  five  or  six— that  of  course  is  only  a  Methodist  slandei 
—but  slander  or  not,  quote  Scripture  for  them,  man,  i: 
they  trouble  you  again;  you  have  as  good  right  to  a 
plurality  of  wives,  or  hand-maids,  or  concubines,  as  Jacob, 
or  David,  or  Solomon,  or  many  others.  God  permitted 
these  holy  patriarchs  and  kings  to  indulge  to  this  extent; 
and,  as  he  is  unchangeable,  his  ministering  servants  in 
these  latter  days  may  justly  claim  the  same  privilege  —we 
are  all  I  imagine  too  foolishly  scrupulous  in  this  respect. 
You  remember  King  Solomon  hadathousand ;  a  thousand 
all  told." 

"A  thousand ?— no,  not  quite  a  thousand,"  muttered 
the  Eev.  Mr.  Kockett  with  a  stupid  smile,  while  his  un- 
steady head  hung  down,  now  and  then  swaying  from  side 
to  side. 

**Yes,  Jack,  a  full  thousand;  nothing  in  ancient  or 
modern  times  can  come  up  to  that — here  is  chapter  and 
verse  for  it:  'And  he  had  seven  hundred  wives,  prin- 
cesses, and  three  hundred  concubines.'  'Twas  a  proof  of 
his  wisdom  to  be  able  to  keep  them  from  tearing  one 
another's  eyes  out." 

"So  it  was,  so  it  was,"  said  Parson  Kockett,  tossing  up 
his  head  and  making  a  silly  attempt  to  brighten  up  a 
little.  **So  it  was,  Vanscourt;  for  he  was  a  jolly  good 
fel— now  Vanscourt  drink  your  glass  and  don't  bother  us 
with  any  more  of  such  moral  quotations— hie." 

"Moral  quotations?  Ha,  ha,  everything  Scriptural  is 
moral  of  course,"  replied  Mr.  Vanscourt,  "  though  I  must 
admit  that  there  are  many  chapters  in  the  Old  Testament 
that  I  should  prefer  not  to  read  in  the  presence  of  a 
refined  cc  ngregation.  I  won't  give  you  the  exact  chapters 
lest  you  night  study  them  for  your  own  edification ;  no 
doubt  you  have  read  them  over  and  over,  and  have  them 
all  by  heart." 

"  Vanscourt— hie— don't  preach  at  us  all  night;  you'd 


tHE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


391 


you'd 


ir-^ke  a  queer  kind  of  Joseph  yourself  if  temptation  came. 
I  know  a  witch — hie — that  you'd  like  to  make  away  with." 

"O,  indeed  I  suppose  you  do.  You  have  also  some 
knowledge  of  the  renowned  witch  of  Endor.  Now  Jack, 
upon  your  honor,  can  you  read  the  story  of  that  wonderful 
resurrectionist  without  smiling  at  the  guUability  of  your 
hearers  ?" 

"Of  course  I  can,  so  can  you,'*  replied  Mr.  Rockett 
stupidly,  **  the  witch  of  Endor  called,  and  up  Samuel  came. 
A  pretty  witch  has  power  even  to  raise  the  dead." 

Just  then  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt  who  sat  sideways 
near  one  of  the  windows  chanced  to  turn  his  head  toward 
it,  the  curtain  had  been  partly  drawn,  and  there  right 
before  him,  was  a  woman's  face,  close  up,  almost  touching 
the  glass.  A  face  once  pretty,  but  now  looking  pinched 
and  pale  by  want  or  disease.  The  night  must  have  been 
very  dark,  for  the  light  shone  full  upon  her,  revealing 
every  feature;  and  her  sunken  eyes  were  fixed  sternly 
ui)on  the  flushed  and  bloated  countenance  of  the  rector  of 
Betnall. 

"Good  heavens!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Vanscourt,  "if  there 
is  not  the  veritable  witch  of  Endor  herself." 

He  was  rather  startled  by  the  apparition;  there  was 
something  ghost-like  in  the  solemn,  cadaverous  face  at  the 
window-pane,  and  in  the  wild  stare  which  was  settled  upon 
the  now  inebriated  host. 

"See  there,  Rockett,  look  at  that  woman,  she  seems  to 
want  you." 

The  parson  looked  up  at  his  friend  Vanscourt  with 
the  same  stupid  smile  and  gave  an  incredulous  wink,  but 
then  to  be  satsifled  he  made  an  effort  and  turned  to  the 
window  and  saw  the  pale  woman.  He  closed  his  eyes  for 
a  moment,  he  rubbed  them  as  if  to  be  certain  that  he  was 
not  in  a  dream— there  she  was  still.  The  smile  had  al- 
ready faded  from  his  face  and  he  tried  to  avoid  the  eyes 
that  seemed  to  enter  his  very  soul.  He  now  grew  nervous ; 
then  he  became  irritable,  and  all  at  once  he  seemed  to  be 
aware  of  who  it  was,  and  to  have  become  influenced  by  a 


:.  ill 


mm 


u  "i 


I   1 


::  it 


392 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


0 


ietermination  to  go  out  and  meet  the  intruder  direcstly. 

"I  want  a  light— bring  mealantern."  Heshouted  this, 
and  in  quiolf  time  a  servant  brought  what  he  wanted.  He 
took  the  Umtern,  and,  witliout  a  word  of  apology,  left  the 
room  and  the  door  was  scareely  closed  behind  him  ere  the 
woman's  face  disappeared  from  the  window. 

When  he  got  outside,  the  chill  air  caused  him  to  shiver, 
and  he  stumbled  in  the  darkness.  He  walked  a  little 
distance  from  the  house,  along  the  pathway  leading  to  the 
stable,  and  looked  about,  but  he  could  see  no  one.  He 
held  the  lantern  up  almost  as  high  as  his  head,  but  the 
stream  ol"  light  did  not  enable  him  to  discover  the  form  of 
a  human  being,  he  could  only  see  the  row  of  tall  poplar 
trees,  that  stooa  in  the  road  along  the  line  of  the  garden 
wall,  swaying  in  the  wind.    He  hesitated : 

**  Was  it  her  ghost  ?  "  muttered  he  to  himself.  **  I  heard 
yesterday  that  the  wench  was  dead— v/as  it  her  I  saw  ?  " 

'*  Yes  it  was  her  you  saw — you  hoped  she  was  dead— you 
would  let  her  starve  and  die  like  a  pauper— see,  here  is  a 
dead  pauper— and  now  I  will  never  leave  you  until  I  have 
revenge  for  this,  and  until  I  exi^oso  y$u  all  over  the 
parish." 

The  woman  stood  before  him  and  held  out  the  dead 
child,  she  seemed  thoroughly  aroused  and  indifferent  to 
what  she  said  or  did. 

The  rector,  though  a  little  startled  at  first,  now  gave  the 
woman  an  indignant  scowl.  "  I  wish  you  were  dead,  you 
infamous  harlot,  why  did  you  dare  to  come  here  with 
your  dead  brat? — did  I  not  caution  you  before?  I  shall 
now  have  you  locked  up  and  confined  forever  as  a  danger- 
ous lunatic." 

"A  harlot!— this  word  from  you?"  O  heartless  mon- 
ster, shameless  liar,  degraded  as  I  feel  for  having  yielded 
to  you,  I  am  not  yet  as  low  as  you  would  have  me— not  as 
degraded  in  tho  sight  of  heaven  as  you  are  yourself— see," 
said  she  holding  out  the  dead  infant,  **  you  are  a  murder- 
er. You  promised  us  a  home  and  support,  but  you  let  us 
star\e.    A  harlot!    O,  God,  what  a  monster!  " 


M 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


The  woman  had  raised  her  voice,  and  were  it  not  for  tli* 
voice  of  tlie  wind  as  it  ruslied  through  tlie  trees,  slie  wouid 
have  been  heard  in  the  house. 

"See,"  cried  the  now  infuriate  rector,  "if  you  shout 
that  way  I  shall  dash  your  damned  brains  out— I  will,  by 
heavens!  "  He  ■clutched-  her  by  the  shoulder  and  shoved 
her  from  him  with  such  violence,  that  the  poor  weak 
woman  was  unable  to  hold  the  infant,  and  she  let  it  fall  to 
the  ground. 

"Oh,  my  child,"  she  cried,  and  she  ran  to  lift  it,  "I 
shall  take  it  to  your  abused  wife  and  she,  yes  she,  shall 
know  all." 

"Never,  you  she-devil,  you  shall  never  touch  that  bas- 
tard again  if  that's  what  you're  at."  He  seized  her  again, 
pushed  her  aside  and  made  a  kick  at  the  bundle  to  send  it 
beyond  her  reach ;  he  then  dragged  her  after  him  toward 
a  large  out  building  which  was  a  short  distance  from  the 
stable.  When  he  reached  this  place  he  tried  to  burst  open 
the  door,  but  he  found  that  the  key  had  been  left  in  it,  and 
ho  forced  the  woman  in  before  him.  The  poor  famished 
creature  was  unable  to  make  the  least  resistance,  her 
strength  had  been  completely  spent,  and  quick  as  he  let 
her  go,  she  fell  heavily  on  the  rough  floor  in  a  swoon. 

The  rector  who  was  greatly  flurried  locked  the  door  at 
once  on  the  inside  and  flung  the  key  away.  He  scarcely 
knew  what  he  was  doing ;  he  was  still  under  the  influence 
of  strong  liquor,  but  ho  was  determined  that  she  should 
not  escape  and  get  into  the  house. 

The  outbuilding  in  which  they  were  was  very  large ;  the 
upper  part  was  packed  with  a  large  quantity  of  hay  and 
straw,  which  could  not  conveniently  be  put  into  the  stable ; 
the  lower  part  contained  a  pile  of  dried  wood,  several  old 
packing  cases,  some  broken  furniture,  a  carpenter's  bench, 
some  boards,  and  a  lot  of  odds  and  ends  which  were  here 
thrown  aside. 

The  rector  now  stooped  low,  he  held  the  lantern  close 
to  the  woman's  face,  she  was  breathing,  faintly  breathing, 
but  very  pale.    She  must  have  been  cut  when  she  fell,  for 


I 


"•B     11! 


'ii 


.!    fM 


■-H.  P*i 


:( 

;    -i 

I     ; 

f  i 

iii\ 

'-.I 

H 

t  11 


m 


t   '8 
II 


i 

P 


394 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


there  was  a  large  gash  across  her  temple,  and  she  was 
bleeding  profusely.  He  began  to  get  afraid— perhaps  tho 
woman  was  going  to  die— he  did  not  care  much  for  that, 
but  how  could  he  get  rid  of  the  dead ;  there  was  the  body 
of  the  child  lying  outside.  He  must  hurry  back  to  tho 
house  for  a  servant,  he  tried  to  open  the  door,  he  groped 
around  but  could  not  find  the  key— he  became  confused ; 
he  was  scarcely  able  to  consider  what  was  the  best  to  do. 
He  went  to  a  corner  and  got  up  the  ladder  which  led  to 
the  loft,  he  would  try  and  make  his  way  through  the  dry 
hay  and  straw  and  drop  down  outside  from  the  large  open- 
ing at  the  end.  In  his  condition  such  an  ett'ort  was  diffi- 
cult and  dangerous,  but  on  he  went ;  he  took  a  few  steps 
and  stumbled,  and  the  lantern  flew  out  of  his  hand  into 
the  very  midst  of  the  combustible  stuff  about  him. 

The  rector's  friends  remained  still  seated  at  the  table,  and 
fresh  decoctions  had  boen  prepared.  Mr.  Rocketthad  been 
gone  nearly  an  hour,  and  during  that  time  Mr.  Vanscourt, 
following  up  the  topic  which  had  been  under  discussion, 
entertained  his  companions  with  little  scriptural  stories 
concerning  Lot  and  his  daughters;  Eachel  and  Bilhali; 
Reuben  and  Bilhah ;  Leah  and  Rachel ;  J  udah,  Onan  and 
Tamar;  Joseph  and  Potiphar's  wife;  David  and  Bath- 
sheba;  Amnon  and  Tamar;  and  other  pious  exemplary 
recitals  of  a  similar  kind  from  the  **  Word  of  God  " ;  and 
then  he  followed  with  inuendoes  touching  certain  repu- 
1  ed  propensities  of  their  absent  host.  The  time  so  far  had 
been  spent  agreeably,  they  were  all  in— and  with — the  best 
of  spirits,  but  soon  after  this  they  began  to  wonder  why 
the  rector  had  remained  out  so  long. 

Mr.  Vanscourt  went  to  the  window.  "Can  it  be," said 
he,  "  that  we  have  the  full  moon  ?  I  scarcely  thought  it 
was  the  proper  time  for  that.  See,  it  is  almost  as  bright 
as  day,  and  there  is  that  woman— our  witch  of  Endor— 
away  down  tliere ;  I  thought  she  had  gone  away  to  com- 
fort Saul." 

There  was  a  woman  outside  near  the  end  of  the  garden, 
she  was  closely  muffled  up,  and  was  looking  off  in  a  direc- 


■vwi 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


395 


tion  from  the  house.  The  light  now  grew  red,  and  the 
room  was  all  aglow.  Why  is  this  ?  It  cannot  be  sunriae, 
for  it  is  not  yet  far  from  midnight.  A  wild  scream  was 
now  heard.  Mr.  Vanscourt  quickly  turned  his  head  toward 
the  illuminated  point :  **  Good  God!  "  exclaimed  he,  "  the 
large  outhouse  is  all  on  fire!  Where  is  Mr.  Kockett?" 
They  all  ran  out,  every  one  in  the  house  followed.  A 
search  was  made  in  all  directions  for  the  rector,  but  he  was 
not  to  be  found ;  neither  could  the  woman  now  be  seen. 

The  rector's  wife  had  been  very  poorly  for  some  days 
and  could  not  leave  her  room ;  she  was  terribly  alarmed. 
She  watched  the  lurid  light,  little  dreaming  of  what  the 
flames  were  then  devouring.  She  heard  a  footstep  in  her 
room,  and  was  startled  by  the  appearance  of  a  woman, 
closely  wrapped  in  a  large  cloak.  The  unknown  visitor 
was  flurried  and  almost  breathless,  she  laid  a  bundle  on  the 
marble  topped  bedroom  table.  *'  I  have  brought  you  your 
husband's  infant,"  said  she,  "  its  mother  and  he  are  out 
there  in  that  Christian  Suttee,  and  their  bones  will  be  re- 
reduced  to  ashes  before  dawn.  You  may  have  heard  that 
Zingari  once  told  him  that  he  would  never  need  a  grave, 
he  never  will ;  but  in  his  place  you  must  try  and  find  one 
to-morrow  for  that  dead  child." 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  before  the  rector's 
wife  fell  fainting  into  an  arm  chair ;  and  Maheel  having 
done  this  fancied  service  for  an  unfortunate  sister,  stole 
out  of  the  house  undiscovered,  and  like  Ate  she  went  her 
way  alono  to  try  and  work  evil,  and  bring  misery  to 
others. 


im      ;i 


"ml-  \l 


I    ',3 


H     is 


i  4 


!•,( 


•I    il 


CHAPTER    XXXIV. 


■tv 


BTILL  ANOTHER. 

TT  was  not  yet  dawn— it  was  chilly— it  was  misty — it  was 
gloomy;   but   thick  mist  occasionally  reflected  the 
crimson  light  that  was  emitted  by  the  expiring  flames  of 
the  still  burning  outhouse;  and  the  same  dense  vapor 
seemed  at  times  to  rest  like  a  flushed  and  angry  cloud 
upon  the  dark  brow  of  the  hill  that  over-looked  the  vil- 
lage of  Betnall.    At  such  moments  of  partial  illumination 
objects  could  be  plainly  seen  which  in  the  the  intermit- 
ting periods  would  not  be  visible,  and  now,  at  the  unusual 
hour,  the  form  of  a  woman  might  be  discovered  standing 
on  the  hill,  and  from  her  attilude  and  moody  expression 
of  countenance,  it  would  require  no  great  effort  to  fancy 
that  she  was  the  spirit  of  the  Rame  angry  cloud  gloating 
upon  the  ruin  and  destruction  which  was  taking  place 
beneath  her. 

But,  strange  to  say,  though  one  might  imagine  that  she 
was  gazing  at  the  disastrous  fire  with  satisfaction,  she  was 
watching  it  with  a  different  feeling.  She  who  but  lately 
had  awakened  human  sympathy  in  her  breast,  had  mis- 
erably perished  in  the  flames  before  her,  and  for  the  sake 
of  the  poor,  wretched,  forlorn  creature  who  had  stood 
with  her  but  a  few  hours  previously,  near  the  spot  on 
which  she  was  now  standing,  she  would  if  possible  have 
prevented  the  dreadful  occurence  that  had  taken  place, 
even  if  it  should  have  added  a  few  more  years  to  the  useless, 
wicked  life  of  the  reverend  svretch  who  tad  betrayed  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


397 


unfortunate  woman  for  whom  she  felt  so  much  sympathy. 
But  the  hoiirt  of  Maheel  was  closed  aprain ;  she  had  no 
hope  after  this  of  ever  meeting  a  single  mortal  whose 
misfortunes  she  could  compassionate ;  she  had  scarcely  a 
hope  of  ever  finding  one  who  would  take  an  interest  in  her 
own  fate.    A  feeble  beam  of  sunlight  had  just  commenced 
to  thaw  the  icicle  in  which  her  heart  was  encased,  when  a 
black  cloud  intervened  leaving  it  more  cold,  more  indur- 
ated, and  more  desolate  than  ever.    Within  a  few  hours 
she  had  been  doubly  discomfited ;  she  had  lately  thought 
she  had  found  one  whom  she  might  be  able  to  assist,  and 
from  whom  she  might  get  Ljsistance  in  return;  and  she 
expected  to  have  been  able  to  meet  another  for  whom  she 
had  long  sought,  in  whom  she  had  long  taken  the  dearest 
interest  that  a  woman  can  take,  but  whose  life  she  was  at 
present  willing  to  embitter  rather  than  be  again  shunned 
and  despised  for  the  sake  of  a  hated  rival.    She  had  faint 
hopes  however  that  that  rival  was  not  in  existence,  or  if 
alive  she  believed  she  was  still  in  India ;  yet,  though  al- 
most driven  to  desperation,  she  was  ready  to  make  one  more 
ai)peal  to  him  she  sought,  and  if  all  failed,  if  he  scorned 
her  again,  she  would  summon  every  evil  power  in  her 
nature  to  make  him  unhappy.    Even  as  it  was,  while  the 
image  of  that  successful  rival  was  in  her  mind,  she  could 
not  rest,  and  she  was  prepared  to  do  the  most  daring  act, 
even  at  the  cost  of  her  life  to  have  revenge.    If  she  failed  in 
this,  her  last  effort  to  win  the  regard  of  him  on  whom  her 
strong  affections  had  so  long  been  wasted,  she  would 
abandon  all  hope,  become  reckless  as  to  pity  or  remorse, 
and  pursue  Eanee  to  the  ends  of  the  earth ;  and  then  she 
would  exult  to  see  him  who  had  slighted  her,  a  prey  to 
aespair. 

She  had  been  on  the  hill  for  some  time  looking  gloom- 
ily at  the  ascending  flames,  she  seemed  unable  to  leave 
the  spot,  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  fire  as  if  it  were 
3onsumiug  her  last  j>rop  of  earthly  happinesss,  or  her 
last  hope  of  heavenly  bliss,  and  cis  if  desirous  of  remain- 
ing until  phe  saw  the  last  ember   expire.     There  were 


t 

I 

: 

] 


»'■    (I 


'I 


i    1 


THE  HfiATUENS  OF  THE   HEATH. 


r 


moments  when  she  was  tempted  to  rush  down  into  the 
midst  of  the  glowing  mass— it  was  only  the  demon  of 
revenge  that  kept  her  from  self-destruction.  She  could 
not  endure  the  idea  of  having  others  whom  she  hated 
live  and  enjoy  the  life  which  had  nearly  lost  every  attrac- 
tion for  her ;  and  there  she  stood,  now  in  the  deep  gloom 
and  now  in  the  dim  light,  thinking  and  brooding,  and  plot- 
ting, how  she  could  best  effect  the  purpose  which  was 
likely  to  be  the  principal  object  of  her  future  existence. 

After  she  had  parted  with  the  unhappy  woman  whom 
she  happened  to  meet  the  previous  night,  she  went  to  the 
little  inn  at  Betnall  and  made  inquiries  for  the  person  she 
wished  to  hear  of.  The  landlord,  who  was  about  retiring 
for  the  night,  was  surprised  to  see  a  stranger,  muffled  up 
as  she  was,  at  so  late  an  hour.  He  tried  to  get  a  glance  at 
her  face  but  could  not  make  out  a  single  feature.  Maheel 
was  completely  unknown  to  him ;  he  could  give  her  no 
Inlormation ;  the  name  of  the  person  for  whom  she  asked 
was  one  he  had  never  heard  of  before.  He  pressed  her  to 
hlay  in  his  house  for  the  night;  he  told  her  there  was  no 
other  place  for  the  accommodation  of  strangers  within 
three  miles  of  Betnall.  Stay  she  would  not,  she  made 
Some  trifling  excuse;  she  was,  she  said,  partly  acquainted 
with  some  in  the  neighborhood,  she  could  remain  with  a 
friend,  and  when  she  took  her  departure  the  landlord  was 
half  inclined  to  follow,  for  being  rather  shrewd  and 
inquisitive  he  doubted  what  she  had  said,  and  from  her 
singular  manner  and  appearance,  he  took  it  into  his  head 
to  fancy  that  she  was  somehow  bent  upon  evil. 

Late  as  it  was  she  called  at  two  or  three  other  places, 
buc  with  the  like  result.  Could  she  have  been  purposely 
misinformed  ?  She  had  had  information  from  an  accom- 
plice in  India— from  one  that  she  had  well  paid— that 
Charles  Maidston  had  left  India  for  England  and  that  he 
intended  to  go  to  the  village  of  Betnall,  probably  the 
l)).ace  of  his  birth,  to  see  his  friends,  or  relatives  if  any 
were  living.  She  was  now  in  Betnall— a  poor  looking 
resort  Cor  a  once  wealthy  India  merchant— scarcely  more 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


309 


tnan  a  dozen  houses  besides  the  little  inn  and  the  larse 
pmrsouage.  Was  there  any  otlier  |>lace  of  the  same  name 
iL  the  south  of  Enj,'land?  No,  this  was  Betnall  in  the 
/)t<rish  of  Betnall,  and  if  he  could  not  be  found  here, 
something  must  have  happened  to  prevent  his  coming,  or 
<yise  he  was  there  under  an  assumed  name. 

Had  it  come  to  the  knowledge  of  any  person  that  she 
fiad  sinister  designs,  or  that  she  wished  evil  to  any  human 
being  ?    Had  any  one  warned  Charles  Maidston  to  keep 
out  of  her  way  ?    So  far  she  had  in  a  manner  kept  her  mind 
to  herself  and  did  not  make  known  her  purposes.  The  poor 
woman  with  whom  she  was  lately  in  company  might  per- 
haps, from  her  excited  words  and  inquiries,  suspect  some- 
thing, but  that  injured  creature  had  troubles  of  her  own 
which  were  too  absorbing  to  permit  her  to  think  of  any 
thing   else.     There  was   one   individual,  however,  that 
Maheel  believed  knew,  or  rather  guessed  at  her  intentions. 
During  her  stay  upon  the  Heath  she  had  made  a  kind  of 
confidant  of  old  Zingari,  and  had  asked  certain  questions 
of  her  and  even  of  some  of  the  gypsies,  which  might  have 
set  them  thinking.    Any  way,  she  felt  that  Zingari  was 
ksuspicious  of  her,  that  she  had  somehow  come  to  a  know- 
ledge of  much  of  her  past  life,  and  had  more  than  once 
reproached  her  for  acts  committed  in  a  diotant  land,  acts 
which  Zingari  by  some  wonderful  means  had  become  cog- 
nizant of.    With  her,  therefore,  she  could  not  remain  any 
longer ;  she  left  the  Heath  and  visited  different  camps 
from  time  to  time,  seldom  remaining  long  in  one  place, 
and  seldom  having  intercourse  with  any  outside  of  the 
gypsy  tribe. 

Discouraged  after  the  inquiries  she  had  just  made  at 
the  inn  and  at  the  other  places  at  which  she  had  called, 
she  went  off  to  find  her  new  acquaintance — the  woman 
whom  she  had  agreed  to  meet— and  whom  she  knew  had 
intended  to  go  direct  to  the  parsonage  and  leave  the  dead 
child  with  the  rector,  or  with  his  wife,  and  to  otherwise  ex- 
pose him.  She  had  told  the  woman  that  she  would  meet  her 
Again  that  night,  and  now  she  was  more  anxious  than 


^f 


i 


:  I 


IW  -1 

"•■If ,  1 

1    '  1 

■'I 

Id 

.:    I 


I 


t  ! 


ii 


100 


TUU  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


L'  - 


ever  to  find  her,  and  loarn  whether  she  had  suooeodod, 
and  whether  the  iuhuman  rector  was  likely  to  be  known 
in  his  i>roi)er  character,  and  to  receive  the  requital  due  for 
his  infamy.  By  this  time  the  clock  in  the  church  towt^r 
had  struck  twelve ;  it  was  midnight.  Maheel  was  alonci 
in  a  strange  place,  and  though  she  had  long  been  accus- 
tomed to  a  solitary  kind  of  life,  she  now  felt  unusually 
dejected.  The  few  people  to  whom  she  had  lately  spoken 
had  stared  at  her  as  if  she  were  a  runaway  from  the  parish 
workhouse,  or  from  a  lunatic  asylum ;  she  felt  the  need  of 
kind  recognition,  or  of  a  word  of  sympathy  from  some 
one,  and  she  hastened  to  try  and  find  the  only  one  in 
whom  she  took  an  interest,  and  who  in  return  might  feel 
some  concern  for  her;  she  would  even  be  glad  to  meet 
any  one,  no  matter  how  degraded,  provided  she  could  get 
one  sincere  word  of  sympathy  or  encouragement. 

The  boldest  and  most  daring  in  wickedness  at  times 
require  the  advice  or  society  of  confederates  to  nerve  them 
sufficiently  for  a  bad  deed ;  and  the  vilest,  without  the 
evil  companionship  of  their  own  kind,  occasionally  feel 
the  restraining  i)ower  of  their  better  nature,  and  are 
thereby  rendered  unable  to  commit  a  crime. 

It  was  now  partly  so  with  Maheel ;  she  felt  in  a  manner 
subdued ;  there  was  a  transient  feeling  that  she  was  pur- 
suing the  wrong  course,  that  sooner  or  later  sorrow  and 
remorse  would  follow  unless  her  vicious  and  unreasonable 
impulses  were  counteracted,  and  that  if  she  did  not  very 
soon  exercise  some  controlling  power  over  her  intentions, 
succeeding  years  would  not  be  those  of  reformation ;  her 
future  days  would  only  bring  ruin. 

As  she  passed  the  church  yard  on  her  way  toward  the 
rectory,  she  stopped  and  looked  through  the  iron  railing 
to  try  and  see  the  little  mounds  beneath  which  lay  the 
dead,  and  to  hear  the  mournful  moaning  of  the  wind 
through  the  sombre  willows,  and  among  the  dim  grave- 
stones that  marked  the  resting  place  of  many  a  once 
beloved  object,  of  many  whose  emotions  of  love,  of  joy,  of 
Borrow,  or  of  anger,  had  passed  away  forever.    They  loo. 


;  I 


Tlili!   HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


401 


<i  I 


thought  she,  harl  Ihoir  real  or  fancied  slights  and  grievan- 
ces, they  had  their  resentments  and  i)erliai>s  their  revenge ; 
of  what  consequence  was  It  all  now  V  How  much  better  it 
would  have  been  had  they  shown  forgiveness.  She  stop- 
l)cd — she  felt  a  willingness  to  remain  near  these  silent 
sleepers — she  would  at  the  moment  prefer  to  be  quietly 
laid  beneath  the  green  turf,  than  to  go  among  the  living 
and  bo  harassed  again  by  withering  care,  and  tortured  by 
disappointment.  There  was  a  lesson  before  her  on  the 
vanity  of  human  life,  a  lesson  that  she  had  never,  per- 
haps, until  now  paused  to  consider.  She  began  to  retlect. 
What  a  fool  I  am,  what  a  fool  I  have  been,  to  waste  my 
life  in  a  useless  chase,  In  a  mad  effort  to  try  to  change  or 
control  the  feelings  or  affections  of  another;  and  In  a 
wanton  determination  to  torment  those  who,  it  may  be, 
have  never  intentionally  done  me  an  injury.  She  remem- 
bered the  happy  days  she  enjoyed  when  she  and  Ranee  had 
served  in  the  same  temple,  and  had  placed  flowers  upon 
the  shrine  of  the  benevolent  Chrlstna;  she  thought  of 
those  past  days  with  regret,  and  of  one  of  the  slmi)lo  beau- 
tiful lessons  of  Buddha— "For  hatred  does  not  cease  by 
hatred,  at  any  time— hatred  ceases  by  love."  Then  why 
should  I  hate  Ranee?  what  after  all  has  she  ever  done  to 
me?  Who  has  ever  wilfully  Injured  me?  no.  one.  I  have 
never  been  cruelly  treated  like  that  unfortunate  woman 
who  has  so  won  my  pity ;  she  has  sufficient  reason  for  her 
enmity,  while  I  show  enmity  without  reason.  I  will  go 
immediately  and  find  that  suffering  creature ;  I  shall  have 
in  her  one  human  being  who  can  excite  my  dormant  sym- 
pathies, and  I  shall  let  my  comi)assion  for  her  overwhelm 
every  feeling  of  resentment  that  I  may  still  be  Inclined  to 
harbor  against  a  fellow  mortal.  Oh!  little  mounds  and 
tombs,  oh,  willows  and  moaning  winds,  what  lessons  ye 
now  teach  me  upon  the  vanity  of  human  life. 

Alas !  these  impressions  were  too  transient ;  while  these 
touching  evidences  of  mortality  were  still  before  her  eyes, 
while  the  drooping  willows  seemed  to  be  like  mourners 
waving  and  bending  with  heavy  grief,  and  while  the  wind 


il'i 


lii 


,1 


;L:, 


it**.- 


m.i 


4>2 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


reached  her  ears  like  the  deep  sighs  of  the  bereaved,  the 
evil  in  Maheel's  nature  again  reigned  supreme— there  wus 
a  cloud  between  her  and  heaven,  there  was  one  who  prob- 
ably still  lived  to  stand  between  her  and  happiness. 

The  hated  Ranee  was  again  in  her  presence,  again  her 
shadow  was  upon  every  hope;  and  Maheel,  as  she  turned 
with  clenched  hands  and  compressed  lips  to  frown  upon 
the  black  sky,  and  upon  the  darkness  around  her  was 
more  like  the  image  of  a  remorseless  fury  than  of  one  pos- 
sessed of  a  human  heart. 

She  pulled  the  cloak  over  her  head  again,  she  almost 
covered  her  face,  and  she  moved  away  from  the  church- 
yard. The  rector's  garden  was  close  by,  she  came  to  a 
little  back  gate  from  vrhich  a  pathway  ran  toward  the 
house— this  was  a  kind  of  short  cut  to  the  rector's  kitchen. 
She  had  just  got  inside  the  gate  when  she  heard  voices— a 
woman's  voice,  and  then  a  man's  voice  in  loud  and  angry 
altercation.  She  heard  a  man  swear,  and  a  woman  make 
an  exclamation ;  she  could  not  detect  the  actual  words 
which  were  spoken,  for  the  wind  at  the  time  was  too  high. 
Suddenly  the  voices  ceased,  and  a  light  appeared  at  the 
end  of  the  garden  wall ;  it  waved  to  and  fro  in  a  singular 
manner  as  if  it  were  held  by  an  unsteady  hand.  She 
moved  closer  and  could  see  two  persons  in  a  kind  of  strug- 
gle ;  she  saw  a  man  dragging  a  woman  after  him— this  sho 
thought  must  be  the  infamous  rector ;  she  had  never  seen 
him  before.  She  recognized  the  woman,  for  the  liglit 
happened  to  fall  on  her  face— it  was  the  betrayed  one. 
Maheel's  impulse  was  to  rush  forward  and  try  to  rescue 
her ;  she  was  about  to  do  so  when  her, foot  tripped  against 
a  yielding  substance  and  she  nearly  fell.  She  lifted  a 
bundle,  and  when  her  hand  touched  the  cold  face  of  tho 
dead  child,  she  drew  it  quickly  away— she  guessed  at  onoo 
what  must  have  happened— and  she  was  inclined  to  lot 
the  bundle  fall ;  still  she  held  it,  her  resolution  was  already 
taken ;  she  would  first  help  the  woman  to  get  away ;  they 
would  both  go  and  got  into  the  parsonage  and  leave  tho 
body  of  the  infant  with  tho  rector's  wife. 


■I 


THE  HEATHEliS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


403 


< ; 
t! 


5! 


She  followed  the  light  again;  holding  ihe  bundle  she 
could  not  get  on  as  fast  as  she  wished ;  she  could  now  plain- 
ly see  both  persons.  The  woman  was  making  no  apparent 
resistance.  The  man  kicked  at  the  door,  and  shoved 
against  it  with  his  shoulder,  he  still  held  to  the  woman. 
The  door  was  opened,  the  two  got  in ;  some  one  must  have 
stumbled  or  fallen  on  the  floor  inside;  the  peculiar  sound 
was  sufficient  to  indicate  an  occurrence  of  the  kind ;  she 
had  but  just  got  to  the  door  when  it  was  quickly  slammed 
to  and  locked  on  the  inside. 

Maheel  waited  a  few  minutes,  she  was  surprised  at  the 
silence ;  not  a  word  was  uttered,  and  she  began  to  dread 
that  the  rector  in  his  desperation  might  have  deprived 
his  victim  of  life.    She  went  to  a  barred  window ;  it  had  a 
shutter  on  the  ins'de  and  she  could  see  but  very  little; 
she  listened,  she  could  perceive  the  flickering  of  a  light, 
but  still  no  sound  of  a  human  voice.     She  soon,  however, 
heard  the  heavy  steps  move  toward  a  corner  of  the  build- 
ing ;  the  light  disappeared  from  the  lower  part  of  the  out- 
house, and  she  could  hear  some  one  as  if  trying  to  force  a 
passage  thro  jgh  the  dry  fodder  on  the  loft ;  she  walked  to 
the  end  of  the  outhouse,  and  just  as  she  got  there  she 
heard  the  partly  smothered  voice  of  a  man  cry:  'Vflvc, 
fire,"  she  ran  back  to  the  door  and  tried  to  burst  it  in,  but 
was  unable  to  do  so.    She  went  a  little  off  to  lay  down  the 
bundle  in  order  to  make  another  attempt  to  force  in  the 
door,  she  heard  no  further  cry,  but  v/hen  she  looked  up 
she  saw  dense  black  smoke  rush  from  the  fabric  in  every 
direction,  and,  almost  at  once,  mighty  flames  burst  through 
the  roof,  and   leaped  around  the  fated  building  like 
demons. 

She  was  terror  stricken ;  she  knew  that  there  were  two 
human  beings  fastened  within  that  outhouse  who  were 
doomed ;  no  power  on  earth  could  rescue  them.  She  lift- 
ed the  bundle  and  ran  back  to  the  garden.  She  turned  to 
look  at  the  building ;  it  was  hidden  in  flame,  and  under 
the  impulse  of  the  moment,  she  gave  a  wild  scream,  she 
felt  only  for  the  unfortunate  womar,  and  when  she  saw 


jKiif,    ^     I 


40i 


THE  HEATHESfS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


-I 


the  people  rush  out  of  the  rectory,  she  instinctively  hid 
behind  the  wall,  and  while  all  was  confusion  and  excite- 
ment outside,  the  idea  occurred  to  her  of  leaving  the 
child  in  the  rector's  dwelling.  She  rushed  into  the  house, 
she  could  see  no  person ;  she  heard  a  cry  of  alarm  up  stairs, 
she  ran  up  and  saw  the  rector's  wife— the  only  one  who 
had  been  left  in  the  place ;  she  left  the  child  on  a  table  in 
the  bedroom,  and  hurriedly  told  her  what  had  happened, 
and  when  she  saw  the  lady  drop  suddenly  into  a  chair  Ma- 
heel  made  her  escape  to  the  hill  and  watched  from  there 
like  a  ghoul  during  the  remainder  of  the  night. 

Toward  the  dawn  she  felt  greatly  wearied— she  had 
stood  upon  the  hill  for  some  hojrs— and  was  nearly  worn 
out,  the  occurrences  of  the  past  night  had  told  even  upon 
her  rugged  constitution.  She  was  in  need  of  a  few  hours, 
rest  and  must  find  it  somew.iere.  She  would  enter  no 
house  at  present;  and  she  was  scarcely  able  to  go  any 
great  distance.  She  would  go  back  and  bathe  her  face 
in  the  stream  near  the  spot  where  she  had  met  her  late 
unfortunate  companion,  and  she  could  enter  the  old  ruin 
close  by  and  sleep  for  a  while  unobserved. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  move  away  she  perceived  the 
dim  form  of  a  man  approaching ;  she  retired  a  short  dis- 
tance to  escape  notice,  He  was  an  early  traveler  and  was 
well  wrapped  up.  Over  his  heavy  overcoat  he  wore  a  large 
shawl,  and  was  evidently  prepared  to  defy  chilling  mists 
and  sharp  winds  while  on  his  journey.  He  carried  a  small 
v^alise ;  his  step  was  firm  and  elastic,  and  he  went  along 
with  head  erect  like  one  who  was  fearless  and  full  of  hope, 
and  who  had  no  forebodings  as  to  the  future.  When  the 
man  passed,  Maheel,  for  some  unaccountable  reason,  look- 
ed after  him ;  she  never  moved  from  the  spot  while  he  was 
in  view,  though  once  or  twice  she  had  a  singular  impulse 
to  follow  and  speak  to  him ;  she  watched  him  until  he  had 
disappeared  in  the  thick  mist,  and  when  he  was  lost  to 
her  sight,  so  utter  was  her  sudden  feeling  of  abandonment, 
of  loneliness  and  of  depression,  that  she  could  have  almost 
fallen  to  the  earth. 


fi 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


405 


ft  may  sometimes  hapi^en,  that  unknown  to  ourselves, 
nnvl  when  we  have  least  anticipated  peril,  wo  escape  a 
"biMger  the  knowledge  of  which  might  cause  a  shudder 
when  the  risk  we  have  run  has  been  afterward  discovered ; 
and  we  may  unwittingly  miss  a  coveted  opportunity  to 
serve  or  to  injure,  which  loss  when  made  known,  may 
lead  us  to  feel  that  no  such  fortune  will  ever  return.  The 
man  who  had  passed  had  just  escaped  a  danger;  and 
Maheel  haJ  missed  an  opportunity  for  which  there  was  to 
be  no  resurrection. 

When  she  got  back  to  the  stream  she  was  chilly ;  she 
did  not  like  to  touch  the  water,  and  she  went  without 
<ielay  to  the  old  structure.  In  the  dull  grey  light  the  ruin 
seemed  to  be  draped  in  mourning,  and  a  place  more  suit- 
able at  the  time  for  weeping  and  lamentation  than  for 
quiet  repose.  Dark  festoons  of  wild  vines  hung  in  many 
jvirts,  giving  to  the  dilapidated  walls  a  funeral  appearance ; 
and  the  mist  condensing  on  the  thick  ivy  caiae  down  drip, 
drip,  drip,  like  veritable  tears.  Gloomy  and  repulsive  as 
the  i)lace  might  be  to  many,  it  was  in  keeping  with  her 
frame  of  mind  at  the  moment,  and,  almost  thoroughly 
overcome,  Maheel  went  in  and  lay  down  on  the  damp 
ground  and  was  soon  asleep. 

She  slept  heavily  for  some  time— a  swoon-like  lethargy- 
she  dreamt— what  a  troubled  dream  !    She  was  startled— 
she  raised  her  clenched  hand  to  strike,  she  tried  to  scream. 
No  such  sleep  as  that  oould  be  refreshing  or  restore  the 
wasted  energies  of  any  human  being.    Of  what  did  she 
dream?     She  was  in  India  again;  she  sat  by  the  bright 
Ganges  in  Benares  gazing  on  the  beautiful  river;  she  saw 
llanee  and  a  multitude  of  other  happy  ones  bathing  there- 
in ;  but  though  defiled  and  anxious  to  be  purified  herself, 
jjhe  was  forbidden  by  the  priests;    she  was  considered 
more  degraded  than  a  pariah,  and  was  not  permitted  to 
enter  'he  sacred  stream.    The  formal  renunciation  of  her 
faith,  and  the  pollution  of  Christian  baptism,  has  forever 
debarred  her  from  that  blissful  privilege.    After  this  she 
was  in  the  temple  of  Siva  with  Bunee ;  they  were  Rowing 


I 


lit 


f   , 


d06 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


m    1. 

mi  ■ '  I 
ill 


J7S 

'"III!-  '• 

t  ,  1'    4 


i      O 


before  the  black  aud  bloody  image  of  Kali,  who  wore  hot 
necklace  of  skulls.  A  priest  demanded  with  a  frightful 
voice  another  human  sacrifice,  and  when  Maheel  went  to 
strike  down  Ranee  as  the  victim,  Maidston  entered  and 
delivered  her,  and  Maheel  herself  was  clutched  by  the 
savage  goddess  and  was  just  going  to  be  torn  in  pieces. 

She  screamed  and  awoke  in  terror,  and  chilly  as  the  air- 
still  was,  the  perspiration  was  streaming  down  her  face, 
When  she  opened  her  eyes  in  her  gloomy  retreat,  she  fan- 
cied that  she  was  actually  in  the  horrid  temple,  that  the 
arm  which  was  stretched  out  toward  her  was  that  of  the; 
terrible  Kali  and  she  shrunk  back  with  another  wild  cry.. 
"You  are  affrighted,  O  worshiper  of  Siva!  What  fresh. 
burden  of  guilt  is  there  on  your  mind  to  leave  your  rest 
so  like  the  ravings  of  a  demon.  Cease  your  frantic  st  rug- 
gles,  your  power  is  gone  forever.  They  whom  you  woiiM 
persecute  are  protected,  and  woe  is  yours  if  you  further 
strive  again.    Arise  and  hear  my  words  !  " 

Maheel  partially  raised  herself,  and  stared  wildly  at  the^ 
weird  form  which  stood  close  to  her.  This  strange  figure 
moved  not ;  the  arm  was  still  stretched  out  and  pointing 
toward  the  arched  entrance ;  and  the  solemn  voice  again 
repeated :  '*  Arise  and  hear  my  words ;  your  life  is  in  dan- 
ger!" 

Maheel  started  up  in  a  kind  of  stupor ;  she  was  amazed 
to  see  Zingari,  and  paused  before  she  made  a  reply.  "  My 
life  in  danger!  Who  wants  it?  It  is  a  curse  to  me;  it. 
would  curse  Lliatin  which  it  entered  were  Iteven  a  scorpion.. 
Of  what  use  is  my  life  to  me  ?  " 

"  Live  to  repent ;  you  may  need  foi  giveness." 

"No,  I  will  not  repent,  I  want  no  forgiveness.  I  care 
not  for  life.    If  danger  comes  I  defy  it." 

"Would  you  like  to  die  swinging  by  the  neck  like  a 
Christian's  dog  ?  "  said  Zingari. 

"No,  I  will  die  by  this  first,"  quickley  replied  Maheel, 
thrusting  her  hand  into  her  bosom. 

"Stay,"  said  she,  "I  have  plucked  your  sting.  I  stole 
your  fg,jocied  strength  while  you  slept— you  shall  never  use 


<  r 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


407 


Miis.'*    She  held  out  a  small  vial  of  the  mostactive  |ioison, 
and  dashed  it  against  a  pile  of  stones. 

Maheel  in  a  fury  made  a  grasp  at  the  old  woman,  but 
she  stopped  outside.  "See,"  said  she,  "I  have  not  eonio 
hore  alone,  I  have  sufficient  help  to  overpower  you  in  a 
moment  and  to  deliver  you  to  your  enemies.  See  for  your- 
self?" 

Maheel  turned  her  eyes  to  where  Zingari  was  pointing, 
and  saw  two  stout  gypsy  men  standing  by  a  tree.  "  W<3- 
man  Itellyouagain  that  your  life  is  in  danger— the  hounds 
of  the  law  are  now  in  pursuit;  you  are  accused  of  burning 
that  house  last  night  and  of  causing  the  death  of  two 
people,  and  if  you  are  taken,  nothing  will  save  you— you 
will  be  hanged." 

The  fearful  charge  caused  Maheel  to  reflect  for  a  mo. 
nient. 

*'  I  never  burned  the  house ;  I  would  have  saved  one  of 
tlic  victims  if  I  could— you  were  a  i)rophet  of  evil  for  the 
ol  her.    Do  you  forget  ?  " 

"  Never  mind  that,  I  am  not  to  blame  if  the  event  has 
fulfilled  the  prediction.  Christians  say  that  it  was  propUo- 
L'led  concerning  Judas— he  cou'd  not  evade  the  act  of  be- 
trayal— but  that  has  not  saved  him  from  Iheir  hatred. 
There  is  a  charge  against  \ou  and  your  denial  will  be  of 
no  use.    Ketribution  seems  to  follow  you !  " 

*'  Let  it  come,"  said  Maheel  frowning,  "  I  care  not." 

"  Can  you  deny  your  evil  design  ?  "  said  Zingaii.  "  What 
brought  you  to  this  place?  We  knew  well  that  you  were 
I'oming  here  for  a  bad  purpose ;  your  intentions  have  been 
known  to  me  all  along,  and  you  have  been  watched." 

"Watched,  Ha!    Few  are  able  to  play  the  spy  against 


j> 


me. 

"Fool!"  replied  Zingari 


"Even  those  men  (Ulside 
heard  what  you  said  on  this  very  spot  last  night  to  that 
wretched  womam.  You  would  have  saved  her  J)ut  you 
would  go  and  work  evil  for  another.  Fool!  he  that  you 
came  here  to  find  passed  close  to  where  you  stood  but 
eight  hours  since.     You  start!   yes,  he  passed  you  this 


;'  i 


y  i 


408 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


L  m 


(lawn  almost  as  near  to  you  as  I  am,  lie  was  oven  within 
these  walls  a  few  minutes  before  you  came  here;  he  is 
now  at  Peu'-lell  with  Eanee;  you  start  again!  Yes,  with 
llanee,  and  the  child  that  you  robbed  them  of  and  sent  to 
slavery  has  been  restored— they  arc  now  beyond  your 
power." 

"  Not  forever,"  cried  the  now  almost  frantic  Maheel,  "  1 
will  pursue  them,  and  who  can  stop  me  ?  I  will  haunt  her 
dreams,  and  I  will  yet  sacrifice  her  to  Kali."  She  tried  tc 
go  hurriedly  out,  but  was  again  prevented  by  Zingari. 
"  Stay!  accursed  fool,"  said  Zingari  in  a  suppressed  voice. 
"  See !  the  law  hounds  are  upon  your  track." 

Three  armed  men  were  seen  just  crossing  the  little 
stream.  One  of  these  was  the  landlord  of  the  inn  at 
IJetnall,  and  they  went  at  a  quick  pace  along  the  road 
leading  to  the  Heath.  Maheel  stood  back ;  if  arrested  her 
conviction  might  follow,  and  she  shuddered  at  the  thought 
of  the  legal,  and  brutal  mode  of  Christian  retaliation. 
They  were  silent  until  the  men  had  i)assed  out  of  sight. 
The  day  was  still  cold  and  misty,  it  was  approaching  evc- 
Tiing  and  the  wind  had  freshened  and  swept  through  the 
desolate  ruin ;  and  heavy,  black  clouds  seemed  to  accumu- 
late over  the  place,  Zingari  suddenly  spoke :  "  Flee  from 
this  place,  flee  forever;  but  let  me  give  you  a  warning: 
Go  not  to  the  Heath  again!  " 

"I  must  go,  I  shall  go,"  replied  the  other  in  a  deter- 
mined  manner. 

Zingari  looked  at  her  a  moment  as  if  she  wished  to 
penetrate  her  very  soul,  and  said:  "Must  go?  Well,  as 
you  have  disregarded  that  warning,  the  shadow  is  already 
around  you,  and  I  must  pronounce  your  doom.  She  whis- 
pered a  few  words  in  her  ear,  and  standing  aside  from  the 
entrance,  said:  "Go,  you  can  choose  the  manner  of  youf 
death!" 

Maheel  gave  a  shriek  and  rushed  out,  she  fled  past  the 
gypsy  men  outside,  and  crossed  the  highway  and  the  wide 
sterile  flat  that  lay  between  the  road  and  a  cliff  overiook- 
the  sea,  kuowft  f^s  ^^^^  "  Prui^'s  Leap."    She  stood  undi^- 


it'. 


w 

I'. 


'I- 1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


409 


mayed  upon  the  brink  of  the  preuipicc,  and  stared  at  the 
seething  waters  beneath  her;  she  raised  her  arms,  her 
black  hair  streamed  in  the  wind,  she  gave  a  t'ranLie  cry, 
and  then  bounded  down  to  her  destruction. 


li 


Ml 


1  If 

i=  I  II. 


!     i 


^'i  i 


M 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

SENTENCE  OF  DEATH. 

rpHERE  was  a  happy  meeting  at  Pendell ;  friends  long 
-*-  parted  had  come  togetlier  again ;  the  curate's  little 
parlor  was  the  scene  of  a  delightful  reunion ;  and  seldom 
has  it  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  to  feel  more  exquisite  enjoy- 
ment than  the  family  group  had  which  were  now  assem- 
bled. Ranee  was  with  her  beloved  husband  once  more,  and 
had  pressed  her  child  to  her  heart ;  Esther  had  wept  upon 
the  bosom  of  her  brother ;  and  the  good  old  curate's  eyes 
were  filled  when  he  grasped  the  hand  of  his  long  absent 
son.  They  were  seated  together  again;  the  mildest  re- 
provals  were  uttered;  explanations  were  given;  excuses 
were  offered;  tears  were  shed;  smiles  were  abundant; 
and  it  seemed  as  if  the  hope  of  the  future  could  be  seen 
like  a  glowing  celestial  arch  in  the  cerulean  sky,  like  a 
rainbow  of  the  most  vivid  and  beautiful  coloring  which 
even  lent  its  blush  to  the  distant  horizon. 

Charles  Meade  had  of  course  to  explain  why  he  had  not 
written  for  so  long  a  time ;  and  why  it  was  that  his  name 
had  been  so  ingeniou^^ly  lengthened.  He  informed  them 
that  after  he  had  been  in  business  in  a  certain  establish- 
ment in  India,  he  had  engaged  with  other  parties,  and  had 
been  obliged  to  travel  to  towns  and  cities  far  apart ;  and 
being  in  expectation,  month  after  month,  of  soon  having 
some  permanent  place  of  residence,  he  did  not  like  to 
have  his  friends  in  England  under  the  impression  that  he 
yvas  obliged  to  wander  in  the  midst  of  danger,  ox  that  he 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


411 


was  never  ^oinj?  to  have  any  settled  place  of  abodi^ ;  he 
therefore  refrained  from  holdin<,'  further  correspondence 
in  the  hope  that  he  mijjjht  be  shortly  able  to  resume  it 
more  to  his  satisfaction.  Subsc(iuent  losses  after  his 
marriage  had  caused  him  to  delay  writinj,'  still  loi'ger,  and 
then  when  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  leave  the  country, 
he  deferred  it  altogether  in  the  expectation  of  being  able 
to  give  a  personal  explanation  to  his  friends  on  his  arrival 
in  England.  The  slight  alteration  in  his  name  was  the 
result  of  a  mere  whim.  In  one  of  the  cities  of  India  in 
which  he  had  to  remain  for  over  a  year,  there  was  another 
person  of  the  same  cognomen,  and,  as  there  had  been 
some  postal  irregularity,  letters  had  been  wiongly  deliv- 
ered, and  other  mistakes  made,  which  were  very  annoying ; 
he  had  therefore,  as  a  kind  of  remedy  for  this  state  of 
things,  changed  his  name  from  Meade  to  ]\raidston,  and 
let  it  so  remain.  On  his  arrival  in  England  he  had  resum- 
ed the  original  orthography  of  his  patronyniic.  When  he 
called  the  previous  evening  at  the  inn  at  Bet  nail  he  made 
himself  known  to  the  landlord  as  Mr.  Charles  Meade,  and 
when  Maheel  called  a  few  hours  afterward  to  ask  for  him 
she  was  misled  by  the  change;  and  it  seems  that  he  had 
that  very  morning  while  on  his  way  to  Pendell,  but  barely 
escaped  an  interview  witli  tlie  dangerous  woman. 

'  It  was  a  happy  meeting  in  his  old  home ;  there  were 
those  now  around  him  that  were  dearth'  to  him  than  all 
others.  One  true  friend  was  yet  absent  but  he  would  no 
doubt  soon  make  his  appearance.  John  Valiant  had  left 
Pendell  very  early  that  morning  for  the  Heath.  It  had 
been  agreed  thatllanee.  Miss  Meade,  and  the  curate  should 
accomi)any  him  to  that  place,  but  he  had  thought  it  best 
lor  certain  considerations  to  ;;o  alone. 

He  wished  to  have  Zingari  visit  his  friends  at  the  par- 
sonage, and  make  such  explanations  respeelinLj  the  (3on- 
duct  of  Maheel,  and  the  motives  which  that  woman  must 
have  had  for  leaving  India;  and  he  also  desired  that 
Zingari,  who  had  in  a  manner  rescued  Hemar  and  taken 
maternal  care  of  him  for  so  long  a  time,  should  have  the 


1^  i 


412 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


m 


rXH 


i»  i 


f 


privelege  of  delivering  him  to  Ranee  his  mother.  This  he 
thought  would  be  a  delightful  surprise,  but  through  a  feel- 
ing of  delicacy  he  did  not  wish  to  be  x^resent  at  such  a 
meeting.  He  therefore  had  Zingari  and  Hemar  conveyed 
to  Pcndell  early  in  the  day,  and  he  intended  to  return  in 
the  evening  and  join  them  all  at  the  curate's ;  he  did  not 
however,  anticipate  the  pleasure  which  he  had  himself 
before  night  when  he  found  his  old  friend  Charles  Maid- 
ston  among  the  fresh  arrivals  at  Pendell. 

Zingari  got  to  the  parsonage  with  her  charge  during 
the  forenoon  ;  it  is  almost  needless  to  allude  to  the  emo- 
tions of  Ranee  when  she  saw  her  boy  again,  and  to  her 
subsequent  delight  when  her  husband  unexpectedly  enter- 
ed the  apartment  where  they  all  were.    He  had  counted 
upon  finding  his  wife  at  Betnall,  to  which  place  he  had 
directed  her  to  proceed  and  remain  for  him,  but  when 
he  got  there,  he  was  informed  by  two  gypsy  men  whom 
he  met  near  the  inn,  of  the  shipwreck  of  the  Indiaman 
that  had  taken  place  in  Pendell  Bay,  and  that  his  wife 
who  had  been  rescued  from  the  ship,  and  his  son  who 
had  been  left  on  the  Heath,  would  be  found  at  his  father's 
house  in  Pendell.     He  had  traveled  on  foot  from  Betnall 
—walking  was   his  favorite  exercise— and  a  few  hours 
march  along  an  English  highway  afforded  him  much  plea- 
sure ;  he  saw  many  old  familiar  places,  many  quiet  inter- 
esting spots  that  he  had  often  visited  when  a  boy,  and  he 
spent  some  minutes  gazing  at  the  old  ruins  to  which  he 
often  used  to  stray  for  bird's  nests  in  summer  days  long 
past;  but  all  along  the  way  to  Pendell  the  thoughts  of 
the  fearful  fire  at  Betnall  had  occupied  his  mind,  and  he 
of  course  related  the  occurrence  to  his  friend  on  his  arri- 
val. 

When  Zingari  had  delivered  her  young  charge  to  his 
parents  and  received  their  grateful  thanks,  she  exchanged 
a  few  kind  words  with  Esther ;  and  she  did  not  forget  to 
express  her  sympathy  to  Mr.  Meade  himself.  His 
sudden  dismissal  from  the  curacy  which  he  had  held  for 
so  many  years  seemed  to  her  to  be  grossly  unjust.    "It's 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


il3 


This  he 
h  a  feel- 
such  a 
)nveyed 
iturn  in 
did  not 
himself 
3  Maid- 

during 
lie  emo- 
to  her 
y  entor- 
coiinted 
he  had 
it  when 
a  whom 
diaman 
lis  wife 
on  who 
father's 
Betnall 
hours 
^.h  plea- 
t  inter- 
and  he 
lich  he 
ys  long 
ghts  of 
and  he 
lis  arri- 

to  his 
hanged 
jrget  to 
e.  His 
leld  for 
"It's 


part  of  the  priestly  system  in  this  land,"  said  she  to  the 
curate.  "  You  know  as  well  as  I  do  that  that  whole  sys- 
tem is  one  of  deceit  and  plunder;  but  you  are  a  priest 
yourself  and  must  I  suppose  be  silent  on  that  subject. 
You  are  one  of  the  ordained ;  but  you  would  almost  rather 
be  anything  else.  You  luive  now  a  chance  to  make  your 
escape  from  the  bondage  of  an  absurd  belief,  you  can 
assert  your  freedom  from  creeds  and  articles,  and  from 
the  control  of  mercenary  ecclesiastics ;  but  he  who  has 
consented  to  your  wrong,  whose  heartless  cupidity  would 
leave  you  a  beggar,  will  benefit  but  little  by  what  he  has 
done  to  you,  to  me,  and  to  others.  I  never  can  forget  that 
man ;  he  is  continually  before  my  mind,  like  some  foul 
object  from  which  I  could  turn  in  disgust.  But  now,"  con- 
tinued she  approaching  close  to  him,  and  scarcely  speak- 
ing above  a  whisper,  "  now  mark  my  words— your  vener- 
able bishop  will  soon  be  dismissed  himself ;  he  must  soon 
leave  his  wealth,  his  honor,  and  his  ill-gotten  gains,  he 
will  soon  be  poorer  than  the  poorest,  he  has  a  long 
account  to  answer  for,  the  shadow  is  now  over  his  dwell- 
ing, and  another  will  soon  have  his  bishopric. 

"  Two  of  your  Church  missionaries  to  the  Heath  have 
gone  already ;  there  will  soon  be  a  third." 

This  remote  allusion  to  the  death  of  the  two  rectors  was 
the  only  one  Zingari  made ;  she  did  not  even  mention  the 
name  of  the  unfortunate  minister  who  had  been  destroyed 
in  the  burning  outhouse  the  previous  night.  For  some 
special  reason  Zingari  had  stipulated  to  be  driven  at  once 
to  Betnall ;  she  got  there  in  a  few  hours  and  stood  by  the 
smouldering  ruins.  While  in  that  place  she  heard  of  the 
accusation  against  Maheel,  and,  as  has  been  related,  had 
subsequently  a  meeting  with  Maheel  herself;  and  then  she 
returned  that  night  with  the  two  gypsy  men  to  the  Heath. 

There  were  carriages  in  front  of  the  bishop's  residence 
at  StoiKch ester.  His  lordship's  state  vehicle  was  not  how- 
ever this  day  among  the  number;  but  those  that  now 
drove  away  were  of  the  most  stylish  and  aristocratic  kind, 
and  servants,  and  footmen,  in  rich  and  varied  liveries, 


^H^ 


i  ii 


■  H 

^ri:F 

i 


I 


411 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


"  1 1*  nil  ' 

Mil '  ^' 


^t^i 


I  s> 


came  and  went— appeared  and  disappeared— in  the  most 
stately  and  ccromonions  manner;  other  carriages  followed 
to  remain  but  a  short  time,  and  other  bedizzoned  coach- 
men and  servants,  retired  in  turn,  making  the  spectacle 
in  front  of  the  episcopal  palace  what  might  be  termed 
rather  brilliant  for  the  dull  evening.  Many  persons  as 
they  passed  along  looked  up  at  his  lordship's  windows 
already  illuminated;  and  many  no  doubt  envied  those 
whom  they  fancied  were  to  be  regaled  sumi)tuously  that 
night  at  the  bishop's  table.  The  number  of  squalid  peo- 
ple who  were  attracted  to  the  spot,  and  who  stood  at  a 
respectful  distance  from  so  much  grandeur,  might  proba- 
bly have  been  under  the  impression  that  the  three  young 
noblemen— the  younger  son's  of  certain  lords— who  had 
had  episcopal  hands  laid  on  them  the  previous  Sunday  in 
the  cathedral,  were  about  to  receive  a  lecture  upon  their 
duties  as  priests  from  the  pious  bishop  who  ordained 
them ;  while  others  as  they  went  by,  surmised  more  cor- 
rectly that  there  was  to  be  another  great  entertainment, 
and  that  his  lordship's  lios|dtable  board  was  to  be  once 
more  spread  to  satisfy  the  dainty  appetite  of  many  whose 
meals  were  seldom  made  more  palatable  by  the  luxury  of 
hunger;  and  to  indulge  the  exquisite  taste  of  connoisseurs 
who  could  pronounce  authoritatively  as  to  the  age,  the 
richness,  or  the  peculiarity  of  a  vintage,  yet  who  perhaps 
for  years  had  never  moistened  their  lips,  or  slaked  their 
thirst,  with  a  sir::le  draught  of  pure  cold  water. 

A  number  of  guests  had  assembled  in  his  lordship's 
mansion  that  cloudy  evening;  his  lordship's  secretary 
who  acted  as  a  kind  of  master  of  ceremonies,  had  smil- 
ingly received  them  and  conducted  them  to  the  grand 
saloon  which  was  now  a  blaze  of  light.  A  large  and  beau- 
tiful chandelier  hung  in  the  centreof  the  frescoed  ceiling 
and  its  lights  were  reflected  in  mirrors  of  the  costliest 
kind.  The  richly  pannelled  walls  were  decorated  with 
rare  paintings;  some  by  Claude  and  by  Wouters,  and  a 
few  by  Vandyke,  and  Poussin  and  other  great  artists; 
there  were  busts  in  marble,  and  the  carpet  was  of  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


415 


rarest  pattern,  displaying  a  combination  of  colors  wliicli 
0(mld  not  be  surpassed. 

Invitations  had  been  sent  out  several  days  previously, 
and  lest  it  should  in  any  way  mar  the  x)leasure  of  tlic  oveii- 
injJT,  it  was  suggested  that  no  allusion  should  be  made  to  the 
sad  occurrence  at  Betnall ;  his  lordship  might  perhaps  feel 
the  loss  of  his  old  friend,  the  rector,  very  keenly,  and  it 
was  deemed  advisable  to  keep  him  as  yet  in  ignorance  of 
tlie  lact.  The  fussy  secretary  managed  to  have  this  undor- 
stood  by  those  present.  "Am  sure,"  said  he  "  'twill  reach 
his  lordship's  ear  soon  enough— too  soon— must  not  be 
mentioned  in  his  presence."  Indeed,  with  many  there, 
the  circumstance  was  of  so  little  importance  that  its 
knowledge  would  not  have  affected  their  enjoyment  in 
the  least.  Death  comes  in  some  guise  or  other  every  hour. 
What  was  the  use  of  being  sad?  So-called  great  men 
were  cut  down  every  day ;  the  next  day  to  be  almost  for- 
gotten— even  greatness  has  its  destined  oblivion.  It  was 
sheer  folly  to  nurse  sorrow ;  its  seeds  were  in  every  heart 
and  must  germinate  in  due  time,  but  the  poisonous  weed 
should  be  rooted  up  as  quickly  as  possible.  Were  the 
Queen  to  die  to-morrow,  guns  would  thunder,  and  joy  bells 
ring  the  next  day  in  honor  of  her  successor.  So  thought 
perhaps  nine-tenths  of  his  lordship's  chosen  guests,  and 
the  fate  of  the  late  rector  of  Betnall  was  on  the  whole 
considered  of  little  consequence.  Dam  vlvimus  viva- 
mus. 

The  spacious  room  was  already  well  filled  with  eminent 
clergymen  and  other  distinguished  persons.  Literature 
and  Wit,  Law,  Physic,  and  Divinity  had  their  most  able 
representatives  to  enliven  the  festive  hours;  and  a  fair 
sprinkling  of  ladies  would,  of  course,  be  present  to  grace 
the  occasion.  The  bishop  had  esthetical  ideas;  for  no 
matter  how  rich  might  be  the  plate,  how  glittering  the 
epergne,  how  brilliant  the  Bohemian  glass-ware,  or  how 
numerous  the  porcelain  vases,  there  must  be  a  profusion 
of  flowers ;  and  his  lordship,  like  a  sensible  man,  consid- 
ered that  the  banquet  could  not  be  complete  unless  the 


'» 


416 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


11'! 
Ill 


1 1  feiJtjEt^iigltj'^:  \,f'\'  /? 


!     1    "I 


(•■    ' 


iHli  'm 


crowning  attraction  of  all  was  the  smiles  of  beautiful 
women. 

What  a  rigid  Puritan  Paul  has  been  considered  by 
many.  In  his  day,  churoh-going  ladies  must  have  been 
kept  under  strict  subjection,  and  not  allowed  to  interfere 
in  matters  relating  to  a  minister's  pecuniary  affairs,  or  in 
the  regulation  of  anything  concerning  the  sanctuary,  or 
scarcely  in  the  management  of  anything  else.  Paul  seem- 
ed to  care  little  for  female  society ;  indeed,  there  is  ample 
room  to  surmise  that  he  looked  upon  women  as  inferior 
beings,  who  were  incapable  of  high  attainments.  On  this 
account,  it  has  been  thought  that  he  was  sainted  by 
merest  courtesy ;  his  almost  total  disregard  for  the  rights 
of  women  has  probably— and  no  doubt  justly — debarred 
him  as  yet  from  entering  the  "pearly  gates" ;  for  some 
fancy  it  only  reasonable  to  suppose,  that  this  pious  dep- 
redator of  the  fairest  of  creation  is  at  present  a  restless 
wanderer  through  some  gloomy  purgatorium  adapted  for 
characters  like  himself. 

If  governed  by  the  dictates  of  Paul,  women  should  be 
mute  in  church,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  wildest  "pvo- 
tracted  meeting,"  while  the  lords  of  creation  might  shout 
themselves  hoarse.  These  are  his  words :  "  Lei  your 
women  keep  silence  in  the  church ;  for  it  is  not  permitted 
unto  them  to  speak,  but  they  are  commanded  to  be  under 
obedience."  And  should  they  become  curious  and  make 
iiiquiries— as  is  natural— he  tens  them  :  *'  And  if  they  will 
learu  anything,  let  them  ask  their  husbands  at  home ;  for 
it  is  a  shame  for  a  woman  to  speak  in  the  church."*  Then 
desirous  of  forcing  subjection  lie  says :  "  Let  the  women 
learn  in  silence  with  all  subjection.  But  I  suffer  not  a 
woman  to  usurp  authority  over  the  man,  but  to  be  in 
silence."  And  as  if  Anally  desirous  of  establishing  her 
inferioritj'^  beyond  all  doubt,  he  gives  this  convincing 
proof:  "For  Adam  was  first  formed,  then  Eve,  and  Adam 
was  not  deceived  but  the  woman  being  deceived  was  in  the 


♦  The  saints  make  no  ailowaneo  for  women  \\\  •  have  no  husbands. 


BB 


r|l 


THE  UEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


417 


trans jjrression.  For  the  man  is  not  of  the  woman ;  but  tne 
woman  of  the  man.  Neither  was  the  man  created  for  the 
woman;  but  the  woman  for  the  man."  The  number  of 
ladies  at  the  present  day,  orlhodox  or  otherwise,  who 
would  be  willing  to  subscribe  to  these  doctrines  of  Paul 
respecting  their  own  inferiority  or  subordination,  would 
it  is  imagined,  be  very  few ;  and  it  is  very  questionable 
whether  any  writer,  ancient  or  modern,  has  done  S3  much 
to  reduce  woman  socially  and  intellectually,  as  the  ''great 
apostle  "  himself. 

Just  fancy  a  bishop  in  this  enlightened  age  issuing  a 
pastoral,  and  dictating  to  ladies  how  they  should  regulate 
their  coiffure:  ho vv  they  should  wear  their  hair,  whether 
long,  or  short,  or  broidered :  whether  ringlets  would  be 
permitted,  or  a  "  switch  "  overlooked.  Imagine  one  of  this 
same  Paul's  successors,  ignoring  fashion  and  fashion- 
plates  by  describing  what  "modest  apparel  "  should  be— 
prohibiting  silks  and  finery,  and  permitting  neither  rings, 
nor,  necklaces,  nor  bracelets;  nor  "gold,  or  pearls,  or 
costly  array,"  and  then  winding  up  by  proclaming  it  im- 
proper for  any  woman  to  dishonor  her  head  by  praying  or 
prophesying  uncovered,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing 
as  saying  that  her  head  would  be  dishonored  by  wearing, 
or  rather  by  exhibiting,  a  diminutive  bonnet. 

It  ought  to  be  a  sufficient  reproof  to  this  saintly  mar- 
tinet to  see  how  completely  Christian  ladies  in  all  times 
have  in  fact  purposely  disregarded  his  silly  injunctions 
respecting  themselves,  or  their  apparel,  or  decc>rations. 
Unless  in  the  ball  room  there  is  p'jrhai)s  no  other  place 
more  conspicuous  for  excess  and  extravagance  in  the  mat- 
ter of  dress  and  finery,  than  in  the  sanctuary  itself. 
Moreover,  the  ladies  have  another  cause  of  complaint— no 
very  trivial  one — against  this  monastic  ajiostle.  He  was 
an  old  bachelor  and  recommended  others  to  adopt  a  life 
of  single  blessedness ;  for  in  referring  to  his  own  condition 
he  said:  "For  I  would  that  all  men  were  even  as  I  my- 
self." What  nonsense !  What  a  pretty  condition  of  affairs 
it  would  be  were  reglious  devotees  to  be  advised  by  this 


I' 

If  • 

I*: 


418 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


over-zealous  teacher !  To  be  sure,  a  great  number  of  infat- 
uated priests,  and  romantic  women,  following  the  unnat- 
ural precepts  of  Paul,  have  actually  remained  celibates— 
in  some  cases  as  has  been  alleged,  perhaps  only  nominally 
such— while  another  class  of  the  clergy,  almost  one  and 
all,  have  been  in  haste  to  take  unto  themselves  wives, 
and  have  shown  as  little  regard  for  the  apostolic  recom- 
mendation in  this  respect,  as  ladies  in  general  have  in 
relation  to  the  prohibitive  texts  as  to  *'  costly  array."  In- 
deed so  much  has  this  been  the  case,  that  too  many  of  the 
ordained,  as  if  determined  to  show  their  contempt,  or 
marked  disapproval  of  Paul's  injudicious  advice  regarding 
matrimony,  have  cultivated  female  society  after  the  fash- 
ion of  David,  or  Solomon,  and  to  an  extent  sufficient  to 
cause  repeated  scandals  in  the  Church,  and  consternation 
among  the  elect. 

Eeflecting  men  and  women  have  considered  it  very 
strange  that  holy  patriarchs  of  old,  including  the  man 
after  God's  own  heart,  should  have  been  permitted  to  have 
not  only  a  plurality  of  wives,  but  of  concubines  also ;  and 
that  Christian  commentators  should  make  ample  excuses 
for  the  condition  of  such  social  and  domestic  economy  in 
those  patriarchal  times,  while  so  strongly  condemning 
anything  approaching  such  a  condition  of  affiairs  at  the 
present  day ;  but  so  long  as  what  is  termed  '*  illicit  love  " 
is  now  included  by  Churchmen  among  the  seven  dealiy 
sins,  those  who  teach  that  such  love — though  over  so  ?>i;)- 
cere— should  be  counted  an  immorality,  ought  to  be  pair-- 
cular  to  try  and  avoid  any  such  irregularity  themselves. 

The  hours  fled  swiftly ;  the  bishop's  lady  was  all  smiles, 
and  looked  queenly  in  her  graceful  folds  of  magnificent 
satin.  The  bishop  himself  was  in  his  happiest  mood,  and 
it  was  remarked  that  no  one  had  ever  before  seen  him  so 
hilaiious;  and  he  would  have  been  even  more  so  were  it 
not  for  the  absence  of  his  principal  chaplain  the  Kev.  Mr. 
Vanscourt.  This  gentleman  was  one  of  his  lordships's 
greatest  favorites,  and  scarcely  a  day  was  allowed  to  pass 
without  an  hour  or  two  of  his  enlivening  company.    The 


/  s 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


il9 


Citaj/ic.ti  kad  now  been  away  over  three  days,  ho  had  been 
expeotea  a-e  the  banquet,  and  the  bishop  felt  no  slight  dis- 
appointment by  his  delay.  Several  of  the  guests  seemed  to 
enjoy  theu-selves  amazingly,  that  is  if  it  could  be  called  en- 
joyment to  move  or  rather  to  force  your  way  through  crowd- 
ed rooms ;  to  be  obliged  to  wear  a  continual  smile,  to  appear 
interested  in  the  elegant  persiflage  and  other  frivolous 
chatter  of  such  as  claimed  your  attention ;  to  seem  struck 
by  the  sage  remarks  of  some  stale  parliamentarian  who 
fancied  that  because  he  was  in  "  the  House  "  he  must  there- 
fore be  possessed  of  original  ideas,  and  to  be  forced  to 
laugh  at  the  vapid  wit,  and  thread-bare  anecdotes  retailed 
for  your  edification.  Others  who  cared  less  for  buzz  and 
bustle  had  entered  an  apartment  specially  devoted  to 
Orpheus,  where  they  could  meet  dowagers  and  their 
fair  daughtirs,  and  listen  to  the  latest  and  most  reliable 
news  from  the  matrimonial  market,  and,  after  that,  to 
"Nelson  and  the  Nile,"  "Ave  Maria,"  "Schubert's Sere- 
nade," and  to  some  touching  new  love  song;  and  hear 
some  of  the  choicest  compositions  of  Beethoven,  Mendel- 
shon,  Auber  and  Mozart,  while  a  number  of  the  more 
youthful  who  could  not  indulge  in  the  waltz,  the  polka,  or 
the  cotillion,  were  forced  to  resort  to  fashionable  flirt- 
ation, and  to  find  refuge  for  whispers  and  vows,  in  the 
curtained  recesses  of  deep  bay  windows,  or  in  such  other 
retreats  as  could  be  found  available.  Much  as  these 
young  persons  might  feel  disappointed,  they  must,  of 
course,  be  aware  that  dancing  was  out  of  the  question ;  it 
would  never  do  to  exhibit  such  a  conformity  to  the  usages 
of  this  wicked  world  as  to  favor  Terpsichorean  exercises  in 
a  bishop's  residence. 

The  banquet  was  at  last  over;  the  private  discussion  of 
weighty  subjects  had  ceased ;  opposite  politicians,  as  con- 
sistency required,  still  held  opposing  opinions.  The  mis- 
erable pretence  of  economy  offered  by  the  factious  resist- 
ance to  the  paltry  grant  of  a  few  score  thousand  pounds  to 
a  prince,  and  as  much  for  a  dowry  for  the  next  marriageable 
daughter  of  Her  Majesty,  had  been  commented  on  from 


ii| 


*i;l 


420 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


.»   <i 


different  standpoints ;  and,  as  it  had  not  been  satisfacto- 
rily settled  who  was  to  be  the  next  Premier,  or  who  would 
next  occupy  the  **Wool  Sack,"  that  question  was  allowed 
to  lie  over.  The  secular  affairs  of  the  Church,  and  its 
legitimate  claims  for  increased  parliamentary  sustenta- 
tion  had  elicted  some  singular  opinions ;  but  the  clerical 
disputants  had  all  agreed  that  the  Kadicals  and  Dissenters 
would  certainly  unite  for  the  overthrow  of  that  grand 
bulwark  of  the  British  Constitution— the  State  Church. 
Old  officers  had  been  perplexed  about  matters  at  the 
"  Horse  Guards  "—a  reduction  of  the  forces  should  not  be 
dreamt  of— the  physical  strength  of  a  nation  was  still 
asserted  to  be  the  true  measure  of  its  power;  and  the 
abolition  of  the  purchase  of  commissions  in  the  army  was 
decided  to  be  Inf^'a  dig.  and  a  great  injustice.  The  condi- 
tion of  the  Navy  had  been  discussed ;  the  proper  construc- 
tion of  onii)£-of-war  had  not  been  hit  upon,  but  all  were  of 
opinion  that  a  vast  annual  appropriation  should  be  made 
to  uphold  Britain's  supremacy  on  the  ocean.  The  situa- 
tion of  things  in  Germany,  France,  Spain  and  Italy  had 
been  reviewed;  a  Protestant  clergyman  had  expressed 
much  sympathy  for  the  Pope,  but  admitted,  as  remarka- 
ble, that  those  who  had  decried  against  his  temporal 
power,  and  those  who  still  wished  to  curtail  his  spiritual 
authority,  were  principally  members  of  the  Koman  Catho- 
lic Church.  Castellar  was  pronounced  a  demagogue; 
republicanism  a  fraud  and  a  failure.  Dilke  was  a  design- 
ing traitor  who  should  be  expelled  from  the  House ;  and 
there  was  great  unanimity  in  asserting  that  the  rights 
and  privileges  of  constituted  authority  throughout  Europe 
should  not  be  tamj)ered  with. 

Among  the  discursive  topics  introduced  during  the 
evening,  nothing,  however,  had  been  said  about  colleges ; 
nothing  about  schools ;  nothing  about  hospitals  and  other 
humane  institutions.  No  reproach  was  uttered  against 
legislators  who  allowed  a  condition  of  affairs  to  exist  that 
brought  an  increase  of  paupers,  and  a  consequent  increase 
of  crime.    Nothing  was  urged  for  the  suitable  relief  of  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


421 


ig  the 
lieges ; 

other 
^gainst 
3t  that 
icrease 

of  the 


hiin:  'y  poor;  nothing  was  suggested  for  the  proper  care 
of  destitute  women  and  little  homeless  children;  and 
nothing  as  to  the  necessity  of  providing  decent  places  of 
refuge  for  the  thousands  of  wretched  beings  who  are  left 
unprotected  and  uncared  for,  and  whose  existence  is  a 
looming  danger,  whose  squalid  poverty  is  a  threat  and 
whose  lives  are  but  a  prolonged  state  of  misery.  No, 
nothing  was  said  about  these  foul  ulcers  on  the  body  poli- 
tic ;  the  Church,  the  army,  and  theNavy,  seemed  to  occupy 
the  first  x)lace  in  the  minds  of  these  assembled  sages, 
priests  and  patriots ;  and  when  discussion  had  ceased,  when 
the  last  song  was  sung,  when  the  last  fantasia  had  been 
executed ;  when  the  last  good-night  was  said,  and  when 
the  last  guest  had  departed,  the  bishop,  still  in  the  high- 
est spirits,  and  perhaps  in  a  very  impressible  mood,  retired 
to  his  spacious  library  to  indulge  in  a  fragrant  Havana ;  to 
have  a  few  quiet  thoughts  by  himself,  and,  it  might  be, 
to  weave  dreamy  speculations  as  to  his  chance  of  a  future 
archbishopric. 

He  had  wheeled  a  large,  easy  chair  in  front  of  the  fire, 
and  had  scarcely  taken  half-a-dozen  whiffs  of  his  segar, 
when,  in  the  stillness  of  his  retreat,  he  heard  what  he 
imagined  was  a  sigh ;  he  turned  around  to  look  and  there, 
at  a  short  distance,  in  a  little  recess  in  the  apartment  sat 
his  chaplain,  the  Kev.  Mr.  Vanscourt.  "What!  You 
here,  Vanscourt?"  said  the  bishop  much  surprised. 
"Really  you  are  a  pretty  fellow  to  be  here  indulging 
alone— God  knows  how  long,  and  so  unlike  yourself—while 
we  were  greatly  disappointed  that  you  were  not  among 
us !  Why  did  you  not  send  me  word  that  you  were  here  ?" 
The  chaplain  sat  with  his  head  bowed  down,  his  face 
covered  with  his  hands  so  very  different  from  his  usual 

manner. 

As  yet  he  made  no  reply,  unless  another  heavy  sigh, 
deeper  than  the  first,  might  have  been  considered  an 
appropriate  answer.  The  bishop  approached  him  and 
laid  his  hand  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Ah  Vanscourt !— I  see 
how  It  is :  you  have  been  with  that  sad  fellow  Eockett  and 


$1 


111 


t 


U'  m 


122 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


—and-— I  fear  the  Betnall  air  has  not  agrted  with  you. 
Eh!" 

"My  lord!  "  ejaculated  the  chaplain  overpowered  with 
emotion. 

"  My  lord !— these  are  the  only  two  words  you  have  for 
me  now— all  you  have  to  spare  after  your  flight  into 
Egypt,  and  away  from  that  Philistine.  You  have  no  doubt 
left  Eockett  half  dead,  when  you  come  back  here  &o  near- 
ly dead  yourself." 

"Alas,  my  lord!"  continued  the  chaplain  still  more 
visibly  affected. 

**  Three  words !  O,  Vanscourt,  what  a  dose  of  fiery  fluid 
you  must  have  tr^.ken  to  check  the  music  of  your  tongue ! 
Well,  we  shall  have  another  word  next  time,  and  then  a 
full  round  sentence.  You  like  a  pun,  Vanscourt— give  me 
a  sentence  of  any  kind  except  the  sentence  of  death." 

"  My  lord,  my  lord,"  again  he  faltered. 

'*  Four  words — not  fairly  a  sentence  yet — we  shall  have 
it  in  good  time,"  The  chaplain  now  looked  up,  his  face 
was  pale,  his  eyes  blood-shot,  and  his  hand  trembled ;  yet 
the  bishop  mistook  these  symptoms  and  attributed  them 
to  a  different  cause.  Well,  Vanscourt,  you  do  look  half 
dead !  KocKctt  must  have  been  determined  to  send  you 
up  sky-high— you  are  pretty  elevated  yet— now  is  it  not  so, 
Vanscourt?" 

"Good  God,  my  lord,  have  you  not  heard  the  dreadful 
news  ?  " 

"  News  ?  "  inquired  his  lordship  with  the  faintest  possi- 
ble smile.  He  now  saw  that  the  chaplain  was  in  his  sober 
senses,  and  that  his  manner  was  strangely  serious. 
"  Dreadful  news  !  No,  Vanscourt,  I  care  to  hear  no  dread- 
ful news.    But  what  is  it ;  what  is  it  ?  " 

The  chaplain  now  arose  from  the  chair  and  stood  trem- 
bling before  him.  The  bishop  was  really  startled  at  his 
appearance,  "Dreadful  news,  my  lord— I  see  that  y\)u 
cannot  have  heard  it  yet,  and  to  explain  all  I  must  indeed 
frame  a  sad,  sad  sentence  for  you.  Rockett — the  unfortu- 
nate John  ..?.ockett,  your  old  friend  Rockett,  was  burnt  to 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH.  423 

death  last  night  in  his  out-house  at  Betnall,  and  his  very 
bones  liave  been  reduced  to  ashes!  " 

The  words  were  scarcely  more  than  uttered  when  the 
bishop  fell  suddenly  to  the  floor ;  the  secretary  rushed 
Into  the  room  in  great  alarm.  Doctors  were  soon  in 
attendance;  all  that  medical  skill  and  experience  could 
do  availed  nothing.  A  fatal  sentence  had  been  pronounced 
by  the  chaplain— next  day  a  coroner's  jury  had  returned 
-"Death  by  apoplexy."  In  two  days  afterward  the  cathe- 
dral  was  draped  in  mourn:  jg ;  there  was  a  great  funeral ; 
and  Thomas  Sumpter,  late  bishop  of  Storckchester  was 
born©  away  in  solemn  pomp,  and  gathered  to  his  fathers. 


I  ii 


IjW'jjl 


CHAPTER    XXXVI, 

OMINOUS  CLOUDS. 

nPHEliE  are  times  and  seasons  in  the  life  of  almost  every 
-^  individual  when  the  most  degraded  can  perform  a 
virtuous  act ;  or  when  temptation  comes  with  such  irresist- 
able  power  as  to  bring  the  most  exemplary  to  the  verge  of 
crime. 

"What  trivial  circumstances  have  often  changed  the 
whole  course  of  a  man's  future,  either  leading  him  on  to 
a  career  of  usefulness,  or  downward  as  an  obstructive  to 
all  progress.  No  one  should  feel  too  confident  in  his  own 
power  of  resistance,  or  triumph  over  those  who  have  had 
to  succumb,  for  though  a  man  should  fancy  himself  invul- 
nerable to  the  attack  of  an  enemy,  Evil  may  approach  in 
such  a  modest,  insinuating  guise  as  to  succeed  in  its  first 
overture ;  and  perhaps  to  rule  and  triumph  forever  after. 
Our  imagined  constancy  to  upright  principles  may  often 
be  only  a  spurious  adherence  to  rectitude  arising  from 
continued  success;  were  adversity  to  be  an  every  day 
companion,  we  might  not  hesitate  to  seek  its  riddance  by 
arts  and  stratagems  inconsistent  with  honor  or  honesty. 
Instances  are  constantly  occurring  in  proof  of  these  posi- 
tions. 

Sentiments  of  this  kind  were  expressed  during  a  long 
conversation  in  the  curate's  little  parlor  at  Pendell,  and 
while  reviewing  the  character  of  Maheel  and  others  who 
were  forever  more  beyond  the  influence  of  praise  or  cen- 
sure.   The  curate  and  a  few  of  bis  frierds  had  met  to 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


425 


spend  an  evening  together,  and  Mr.  Valiant  was  of  course 
among  the  number.  It  was  more  than  two  weelts  since 
the  calamity  at  Betnall,  and  nearly  that  time  since  the 
great  funeral  of  the  bishop  of  Storkchester  had  taken 
place.  Mr.  Meade  gave  them  an  account  of  the  imposing 
ceremony;  he  had  had  another  journey  to  that  city;  all 
the  clergy  of  the  diocese  had  been  requested  to  attend  the 
solemn  service  in  the  Cathedral;  and  as  the  curate  was 
among  the  number  of  those  invited,  he  of  course  consider- 
ed it  obligatory  on  him  to  make  an  appearance,  and  it 
occurred  to  him  that  as  he  had  heard  nothing  lately  about 
his  successor  to  the  curacy,  the  bishop's  death  might 
probably  cause  some  new  arrangement  to  take  place,  and 
that  he  might  still  be  inekuled  among  the  number  of 
active  clergy,  and  allowed  to  serve  for  a  time  longer  in 
his  old  parish.  This  of  course  would  be  the  wish  of  his 
heart;  and  it  is  to  be  concluded  that  the  wish  in  this  case 
was  "  father  to  the  thought."  He  knew  that  Mr.  Valiant 
would  be  glad  to  have  him  on  the  Heath,  but  still  he 
would  prefer  his  old  home  and  would  not  wi  -h  to  change 
it  until  he  left  it  for  his  grave. 

How  different  this  time  were  his  feelings  upon  his  arri- 
val in  Storkchester  to  what  they  had  been  on  a  former 
occasion!  Then  he  had  been  almost  driven  from  his 
lordship's  door  like  a  vagrant ;  now,  no  pert  servant  in 
plush  livery  made  his  appearance  to  close  the  door  upon 
him ;  no  smirking  secretary,  like  a  courteous  dragon 
stood  in  the  way  to  prevent  his  entrance,  the  door  was 
open  to  permit  another  to  pass  out— one  who  was  never  to 
return.  No  carriage  was  in  waiting  to  give  his  lordship 
an  airing,  but  a  hearse  with  towering  black  plumes  was 
there  to  take  him  to  the  grave.  The  wide  hall  was  gloomy ; 
he  could  enter  and  go  among  others  that  loitered  in  the 
dim  apartment  which  but  a  few  nights  previously  had 
been  the  scene  of  such  gay  festivity.  The  whole  house 
was  made  to  appear  gloomy ;  and  pictures,  and  mirrors, 
and  busts,  and  statuettes  were  clouded  and  draped— as 
human  beings  were— to  make  them  look  what  they  were 


:<( 


n  n 


426 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


not.  The  faces  of  trained  mourners  were  gloomy;  and 
what  made  it  seem  more  sad  and  gloomy  than  all  to  one 
like  the  curate,  who  was  troubled  with  a  feeling  heart, 
there  was  no  evidence  of  sincere  grief  in  the  whole  costly 
display.  When  the  massive  coffin  was  borne  out,  and 
taken  down  the  marble  steps  to  be  conveyed  to  the  cathe- 
dral, there  were  bowed  heads  and  solemn  faces,  but  no 
voice  of  sorrow  could  be  heard,  no  child's  tear  could  be 
seen,  no  wife's  smothered  sob  reached  the  ear ;  there  was 
nothing  but  a  mere  ceremonial  of  sadness,  a  studied  coun- 
terfeit of  grief— not  the  slightest  symptom  of  natural 
feeling  to  touch  a  stranger's  heart. 

The  next  morning  after  the  funeral,  before  Mr.  Meade 
started  on  his  return  home,  the  Kev.  Mr.  Vanscourt,  the 
new  rector  of  Pendell,  called  on  him  at  the  hotel.  The 
rector,  who  appeared  to  be  very  much  cast  down,  inform- 
ed him  that  the  late  bishop's  nephew,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Sofln, 
who  had  agreed  to  accept  the  curacy  of  Pendell,  had— 
probably  in  consideration  of  greater  pay  and  more  leisure 
—already  changed  his  mind,  and  accepted  the  chaplaincy 
of  a  frigate  then  under  orders  for  foreign  service.  Mr. 
Vanscourt  admitted  that  he  thought  Mr.  Meade  had  the 
best  right  to  the  curacy— he  had  always  thought  so— but 
the  late  bishop  was  most  anxious  to  have  Mr.  Sofin,  his 
nephew,  under  his  (Mr.  Vanscourt's)  charge  at  Pendell, 
and  he  could  not  refuse  his  consent  to  such  an  arrange- 
ment; for  he  was,  he  said,  mainly  indebted  to  the  late 
bishop  for  his  appointment  as  rector  of  that  parish.  Now, 
however,  there  was  nothing  in  the  way,  and  if  Mr.  Meade 
would  only  consent  to  serve  as  curate,  five  pounds  a  year 
should  be  added  to  his  salary.  The  curate  had  accepted 
the  offer  at  once,  and  returned  home  delighted.  He  was 
congratulated  by  many  of  his  friends;  Sarah  At'ton  and 
old  Stephen  were  greatly  pleased,  and  there  was  rejoicing 
among  several  of  his  old  parishioners— two  persons  alone 
were  disappointed. 

Mr.  Valiant  expressed  his  regret  openly;  he  had,  he 
said,  fully  expected  to  have  Mr.  Meade  with  him  on  the 


f;  and 
to  one 
heart, 
costly 
it,  and 
cathe- 
but  no 
>uld  be 
3re  was 
d  coun- 
aatural 

Meade 
urt,  the 
5l.    The 
inform- 
f.  Sofln, 
I,  had-- 
^  leisure 
.plaincy 
5e.    Mr. 
had  the 
so— but 
3fin,  his 
endell, 
rrange- 
he  late 
Now, 
Meade 
a  year 
ccepted 
He  was 
on  and 
ejoicing 
s  alone 

|had,  he 
on  the 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


427 


Hetkth,  and  now  this  new  arrangement  might  seriously 
affect  his  plans  for  a  time.  Esther  said  nothing,  sh»>  did 
not  wish  to  have  her  father  think  she  was  dissatisfied; 
but  from  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  already  treat- 
ed by  his  spiritual  superiors,  she  felt  his  position  still 
insecure ;  she  would  have  preferred  that  he  had  given  up 
the  curacy.  He  was  getting  too  old  for  the  duties  of  the 
parish,  and  Mr.  Valiant's  proposal  was  one  which,  under 
present  circumstances,  would  have  been  most  beneficial. 
It  would  be  with  the  greatest  regret  that  she  took  leave 
of  the  old  house  in  which  she  had  spent  her  youthful 
days ;  but  she  would  have  to  leave  it  some  time.  It  was 
the  parsonage  of  the  parish,  and  the  property  of  the 
church,  and,  as  her  father  was  getting  old,  she  could 
scarcely  expect  that  they  would  be  able  to  remain  in  it 
much  longer— it  might  soon  be  occupied  by  others. 

Charles  Meade,  who  had  succeeded  in  recovering  a  large 
amount  of  money,  had  tempting  offers  to  commence  busi- 
ness in  London,  and  he  and  Ranee  Jiad  pressed  Esther  to 
accompany  them,  and  she  had  agreed  to  do  so.  She  wish- 
ed to  see  more  of  the  metropolis  and  to  hear  one  or  two 
of  the  great  organists  to  be  found  in  that  city ;  and  now, 
were  her  father  to  remain,  how  could  she  possibly  manage 
to  leave  him.  Had  he  gone  to  the  Heath  he  would  have 
been  comfortably  situated  and  well  cared  for,  and  she 
could  at  the  same  time  have  an  opportunity  of  visiting 
London.  She  had  often  heard  flattering  speeches  regard- 
ing her  musical  abilities,  and  had  been  informed  that  she 
could  distinguish  herself  there;  and  for  certain  other 
reasons  she  was  more  desirous  than  ever  of  going  to  the 
great  city.  She  really  wished  to  be  away  for  a  time ;  she 
had  some  confidence  in  her  own  powers,  and  a  laudable 
ambition  to  become  better  known  in  the  musical  world ; 
but  the  question  still  was  if  her  father  chose  to  stay  in 
Pendell,  how  could  she  get  away ;  it  was  to  her  a  difficult 
problem  to  solve,  and  its  consideration  caused  her  no  little 
perplexity. 

Mr.  Valiant  was  soiry  to  learn  that  the  curate  had 


•I  , 


i  1 


428 


x'HE   HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


decided  to  remain  for  a  time  ionj^er  at  Pendell  and  again 
expressed  liis  rej^ret  at  tlie  (loc5ision.  **  I  gave  our  friends 
to  understand,"  said  lie  addressing  Mr.  Meade,  *'  tliat  you 
would  soon  be  one  of  our  number,  and  all  were  pleased  to 
hear  it,  I  have  you  know  a  curious  lot  of  persons  to  con- 
trol  and  civilize,  and  I  relied  much  on  your  assistance ; 
not  in  fact  on  your  efforts  alone,  but  I  had  hoped  that 
through  you  we  could  obtain  the  aid  of  another  whose  in- 
fluence would  have  been  invaluable.  You  still  desire  to 
remain  in  Pendell  out  of  a  partiality  to  your  old  parish ; 
you  cannot  by  any  means  do  so  much  good  in  this  place 
as  you  could  among  my  friends  on  the  Heath.  Here  a 
majority  of  your  parishioners  would  refuse  to  listen  to 
teaching  which  might  chance  to  conflict  with  their  long 
established  opinions ;  here  your  instruction  is  limited  to 
the  explanation  of  certain  doctrines,  the  worth  of  which 
many  dispute  and  the  value  of  which  you  may  be  doubtful 
of  yourself ;  Lhere  you  might  find  minds  wh  if  not  alto- 
gether blank  as  to  certain  tenets,  might  be  a  impress- 
ible, and  you  might  be  far  more  successful  in  disseminating 
scientific  truth.  After  what  has  occurred  in  relation  to 
yourself  you  can  have  no  certainty  that  you  may  not  soon 
be  asked,  or  rather  notified,  again  to  retire  in  favor  of  some 
new  successor." 

"  They  will  not  disturb  me  for  at  least  a  year,"  said  Mr. 
Mead3.  "During  that  time  I  can  better  prepare  for  a 
change.  It  affected  me  very  much  to  be  dismissed  so 
unexpectedly.  I  did  intend  to  go  with  you  to  the  Heath ; 
it  is  now  indeed  a  pleasant  place  to  what  it  once  was,  but 
you  know  my  promise  to  you  was  partly  conditional ;  I 
scarcely  expected  to  be  restored  to  the  curacy,  and  was 
grateful  for  your  kind  offer;  and,  to  compensate  in  a 
measure,  I  will  promise  to  make  a  weekly  visit  to  the 
Heath,  and,  perhaps  by  the  end  of  another  year,  I 
may  fully  decide  on  going  there  altogether.  The  scenery 
here  may  be  more  inviiing,  yet  I  will  not  hesitate  to  tell 
you  that  the  instructions  which  I  am  obliged  to  give  are 
more  from  the  head  than  from  the  heart ;  I  now  begin  to 


THE  HK.VTIIKNa  OF  TIIK   IIKATII. 


429 


I  afjjaiij 
frioiids 
liat  you 
ased  to 

to  con- 
stance  ; 
•ed  that 
lose  in- 
esire  to 

parish ; 
lis  place 

Here  a 
isten  to 
eir  long 
tnited  to 
3f  which 
doubtful 
not  alto- 
jimpress- 
inating 

ation  to 
|not  soon 

of  some 

I  said  Mr. 
ire  for  a 
lissed  so 

Heath ; 
I  was,  but 
tioiial ;  I 
land  was 
late  in  a 
It  to  the 

year,  I 

scenery 
be  to  tell 
jgive  are 

begin  to 


feel  that  I  ought  to  follow  Truth  ovori  wor»'  it  to  a  S(>on»iii^' 
desert;  for  whore  truth  is  there  can  be  no  bleaii  sloiility, 
and  where  all  are  its  faithful  followers  thoro  must  1)0  con- 
tinued peace  and  harmony.  Yes,  before  the  end  of  another 
year  I  shall  decide.    But  then  Esther  may  b(^  away." 

•*  Away !  "  said  Mr.  Valiant.  He  had  not  been  infornioil 
of  her  intention  to  go  to  London.  "Away?  Wliy,  our 
friend  Miss  Meade  is  not  surely  going  to  leave  us  ?  "  John 
Valiant  was  evidently  much  concerned  as  to  the  nature  of 
the  reply  he  might  receive. 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Ranee,  "Esther  has  promised  to  come 
and  stay  with  us  in  London,  her  father  will  be  able  to  come 
and  visit  us  often— for  that  matter  he  might  remain  with 
us  altogether.  Any  way  while  he  is  here  Sarah  and  old 
Stephen  will  be  company  for  him  and  see  that  ho  is  well 
taken  care  of.  Esther  must  come  with  us ;  that  is  positively 
settled." 

"  Don't  say  positively,"  said  Esther  laughing,  "I  fear 
I  shall  not  be  able  to  go  for  a  long  time.  My  father  has 
changed  his  mind  and  decided  to  remain  here  for  another 
year.    How  can  I  leave  him  ?" 

"  Nonsense !  You  must  go  Esther,"  said  the  curate,  un- 
willing to  disappoint  her.  "You  must  go  child.  I  shall  be 
able  to  get  along  famously.  You  know  how  careful  old 
Barah  was  of  me  when  you  were  lately  indisposed;  and 
then  I  had  Stephen  to  remind  me  of  old  times,  and  to  talk 
of  those  who  had  lived  and  flourished,  or  struggled  here 
when  I  first  came  to  the  parish.  Yes,  go  Esther,  I  want 
you  to  see  something  of  the  world,  and  London,  you  have 
often  been  told,  is  a  good  representation  of  it— a  world  in 
Itself.    You  must  go  child,  you  must  go." 

"Besides,"  said  Eanee,  "I  have  heard  more  than 
one  say,  since  I  have  been  here,  thai  fame  and  fortune 
are  in  London  awaiting  your  arrival- perhaps  a  rich  hus- 
band. Now  don't  blush  that  way.  I  have  been  told  all 
about  that  wealthy  lord  who  was  struck  by  your  musical 
performance,  as  well  as  by  your  personal  appearance. 
You  know  the  noble  widower  I  mean— he  whe  paid  you  so 


\\ 


m 


430 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


1   .;1iv.ii- 


■  !.;'''S 


much  attention  some  time  ago  at  Betnall  during  a  visi^^Q- 
tion  of  the  late  bishop.    I  have  hear  1  the  whole  story." 

John  Valiant  who  had  listeaed  to  every  word,  suddenly 
looked  up  amazed;  he  stared  at  the  curate  inquiringly, 
and  his  anxious  look  might  at  once  be  interpreted  to  mean 
—Can  this  possibly  be  true  ? 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  her  brother  following  up  the  attack 
while  Esther's  face  was  one  glow  of  crimson.  "Esthe; 
has  surely  made  a  conquest;  old  Sarah  told  me  about  it 
and  how  that  Lord  Wedmore  would  have  called  here  him 
self  to  pay  his  respects  and  hear  her  play  again,  and  per- 
haps to  say  something  very  particular,  were  it  not  for  the 
late  rector  of  this  parish,  Mr.  Morton,  who  for  some 
reason  put  him  off  by  saying  that  Esther  w.is  engaged  tc 
a  clergyman  in  a  distant  parish.    Is  it  not  so  father  ?" 

Mr.  Valiant  ^'rew  still  more  amazed  ;  there  was  an  ex- 
pression of  pain  in  his  face;  and  Esther  was  apparently 
overwhelmed,  she  was  thoroughly  confused ;  she  waa 
unable  to  speak  a  word,  or  to  leave  the  room,  and  she 
could  only  look  appoalingly  at  Ranee  and  at  her  brother. 

The  curate  did  noc  seem  inclined  to  encourage  conversa- 
tion on  that  oubjoct,  but  as  he  had  been  referred  to  by  his 
son,  he  merely  said  : 

"Oh,  I  believe  there  was  something  of  the  kind,  but 
'tis  of  no  consequence  now.  Let  it  pass.  Esther  has  no 
such  aims.  I  wish  her  to  go  to  London  for  a  far  different 
purpose,  and  when  we  arrange  matters  here  a  little,  she 
shall  follow  you.    I  will  see  her  off  myseif." 

"  Lord  Wedmore  is  in  London  at  present;  is  he  not? " 
asked  Ranee. 

"Of  course  he  is,"  replied  Charles  Meade,  "and  if  we 
delay  at  Pendell  much  longer,  it  is  quite  probabla  that  the 
noble  widower  may  pay  us  a  visit  himself.  I  have  a'so 
learned  that  he  was  greatly  annoyed  at  the  late  Mr. 
Morton  for  having  misled  him  with  respect  to  Esther.  r>iit 
now  I  believe  her  chances  are  better  than  ever." 

Why  was  it  that  John  Valiant  remained  so  silent;  !ir 
was  generally  ready  to  take  part  in  social  conversatiot- 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


431 


but  now  he  seemed  disinclined  to  say  a  word  ?  Tlie  day 
was  near  its  close,  the  sun  had  set,  and  the  shades  of 
eveninfjf  filled  the  room.  "Why  were  his  reflections  of  so 
sombre  a  character  ?  why  was  he  impressed  at  the,  time 
with  the  idea  that  the  sunbeam  of  his  hopes  had  probably 
faded  away  for  ever,  and  that  his  future  years  would  bo 
passed  in  twilight  and  in  shade?  And  why  was  it  that 
Esther,  already  so  disconcerted,  felt  such  relief  when  the 
subject  was  dropped,  and  when  she  escaped  from  the 
apartment  to  look  after  some  household  affair  ? 

For  some  time  afterward— in  fact  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  evening— Mr.  Valiant  was  not  altogether  in 
his  usual  lively  mood ;  he  was  occasionall>  in  a  state  of 
abstraction,  and  seemed  to  hear  but  little  of  the  conver- 
sation which  took  place.  "When  tea  was  over,  they  had 
some  music,  and  Kanee,  who  had  a  fine  voice,  sang  a 
favorite  piece,  and  was  accomi)anie(l  by  Esther  on  the 
piano.  The  beautiful  melody  had,  however,  a  saddening 
effect  on  Mr.  Valiant,  and  it  was  not  until  matters  con- 
nected with  the  late  bishop  and  his  family  had  been  talk- 
ed over,  and  some  speculations  made  as  to  who  might  be 
his  successor,  that  he  had  become  in  any  degree  himself 
again.  In  reference  to  this  subject,  he  said,  with  anima- 
tion and  evident  earnestness . 

"  "Were  every  bishop  in  England  to  be  deposed  to-mor- 
row, and  no  others  appointed,  could  there,  or  would  there 
be  any  possible  loss  to  the  nation  V  What  real  benelit  is 
the  office  to  any  save  to  the  incumbent?  Any  virtue 
said  to  be  connected  with  it,  is  only  like  too  much  per- 
taining to  religion— merely  imaginary.  Emplane  I  has— even 
in  this  enlightened  and  scientific  age— to  sui)port  tweidij- 
eight  bishops,  including  two  arch-bisliops;  the  people 
have  scarcely  a  word  to  say  as  to  the  choice  or  selection  of 
these  men,  and  the  useless  burden  of  so  many  lordly  pre- 
lates, is  an  annual  cost  to  the  country  of  over  one  hundred 
and  fifty  thousand  pounds  sterling;*  besides  perquisites  of 


A-bput  throe-qutvi'ters  of  a  million  dollars. 


132 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


nWI*   ^  ' 

Hi 


various  kinds,  which  add  largely  to  the  sum  total.  Now 
what  real  valuable  service  do  these  pretenders  give  in 
return  for  this  immense  sum  ?  If  an  admission  be  at  all 
made  respecting  any  benefit  conferred  by  these  consecrat- 
ed impostors,  it  may  simply  be  said,  that  they  are  as 
beneficial  in  their  way  as  the  half-hundred  chaplains  who 
are  required  for  the  special  edification  of  the  Queen.* 

Were  the  professions  of  these  pious  dignitaries  sincere, 
they  would,  of  necessity,  have  some  conscientious  scru- 
ples as  to  the  acceptance  of  exorbitant  sums  for  nominal 
services ;  but  in  their  extraordinary  greed,  and  in  helping 
to  exhaust  the  national  resources,  they  reduce  themselves 
to  a  lower  position  than  that  of  political  place  men  whose 
offices  are  the  veriest  sinecures.    Pauperism  is  on  the 
increase  around  us ;  sufficient  funds  cannot  be  raised  to 
meet  the  appeals  of  those  engaged  in  the  work  of  benevo- 
lence ;  and  yet  money  is  abstracted  from  the  revenues  of 
the  country  to  sustain  Episcopal  drones  in  luxury,  while 
at  the  same  time,  many  humane  institutions  are  languish- 
ing for  support.    No  wonder  that  discontent  prevails  in 
England.    The  people  feel  themselves  legallv  plundered 
in  order  that  priestly  pensioners  and  a  host  of  others  may 
be  dignified  and  pampered,  and  they  almost  despair  of 
finding  a  legal  remedy ;  even  the  very  land  is  monopolized 
to  such  an  extent  as  that  not  more  than  one  man  of  six 
hundred  and  fifty  persons  owns  a  foot  of  English  soil. 
No  wonder,  therefore,  that  thousands  rush  anuaally  from 
these  shores  to  find  a  home  in  a  strange  but  more  hospit- 
able country,  and  that  you  need  a  standing  army  to  over- 
awe those  whj  are  obliged  to  remain,  and  who  are  restless 
and  discontented  while  forced  to  bear  unjust  burdens,  and 
submit  to  the  grossest  mismanagement  of  public  affairs. 
You  have  a  costly  State  Church  establishment— arch- 

*  The  spiritual  guardians  of  tho  Queen  of  Great  Britain,  rank  an  1 
nie,  maybe  summed  up  as  follows:  One  domestic  chaplain  to  Her 
Majesty;  one  to  Her  Majesty's  household  at  St.  James';  forty-oifjflit 
chaplains  in  ordinary  to  Her  Majesty;  eight  priests  in  ordinary  to 
Hor  Majesty.  It  may.  therejEoje.  be  considered  reasonable  to  suppose 
tJbiat  He.r  Ma^iesty  is  safe. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


193 


give  in 
)e  at  all 
isecrat- 

are  as 
ins  wlio 
n.* 

sincere, 
IS  scru- 
lorainal 
helping 
mselves 
1  whose 

on  the 
aised  to 
benevo- 
mues  of 
V,  while 
,nguish- 
vails  in 
mdered 
ers  may 
spair  of 
Dpolized 
n  of  six 
ish  soil, 
lly  from 
5  hospit- 
to  over- 
restless 
ens,  and 
affairs. 
,t — arcli- 

rank  an  1 
in  to  Hor 
irty-eitrht 
•dinar  y  to 
D  suppose 


bishops,  bishops,  lesser  spiritual  dignitaries,  hundreds  of 
clergy,  and  thousands  of  other  priests  and  preachers  of 
every  sect  and  degree  swarming  all  over  the  land ;  they 
seem  wilfully  blind  to  the  political  favoritism  and  injus- 
tice which  prevail  in  this  so-called  land  of  freedom ;  and 
to  the  pitiful  poverty  and  gross  ignorance  which    obtrude 
in  every  part  of  the  kingdom.    If  these  priestly  mercena- 
ries were  true  men,  such  a  state  of  things  could  not  long 
continue;  at  times  they  make  feeble,  but  ostentatious 
efforts  to  relieve  the  distressed;  but  so  long  as  they  pre- 
tend to  believe,  and  persist  in  teaching,  religious  and 
political  fables,  so  long  will  superstition    enfeeble  the 
intellect,  and  usurpation  make  men  servile;  so  long  as 
they  assert  that  it  is  decreed  by  a  benevolent  Providence 
that  a  minority  must  of  necessity  be  rery  rich,  and  the 
great  majority  degradingly  poor,  the  ignorant  poor  will 
submit  to  be  robbed  of  their  natural  rights,  and  no  suit- 
able effort  will  be  made  to  stay  the  hand  of  the  despoiler. 
Assurance  is  the  only  diploma  held  by  many  a  professor. 
These  assuming  i)riests  are  most  obtrusive  in  every  rela- 
tion ;  they  claim  precedence  as  having  been  invested  with 
superior  authority;  they  arrogate  to  themselves  the  right 
to  instruct,  and  perhaps  just  as  often  the  right  to  dictate ; 
and  instead  of  leading  in  social,  political,  or  scientific 
progress ;  they  denounce  the  so-called  infidols,  and  their 
advanced  ideas,  and  they  lag  behind  too  frequently  as 
obstructives,  until    forced    onward    by  public   common 
sense,  or  by  unerring  demonstration,  and  then  they  as 
frequently  rush  to  the  front  and  unblushlngly  claim  to  be 
principals  in  the  march  of  improvement." 

Mr.  Valiant  would  be  supported  in  these  assertions  by 
a  large  majority  of  educated  thinkers  in  Great  Britain. 
Ministers  of  the  Gospel,  while  having  sto  jd  so  long  in  the 
way  of  progress,  will  oftentimes  demand :  "  What  have 
Infidels  done  to  benefit  mankind  ?  "  The  reply  is,  they 
have  been  nearly  always  the  despised  leaders  of  progress. 
They  have  been  the  most  daring  scientists  and  philoso- 
phers—daring because  they  feared  not  to  contradict  "in- 


'!    ii-   ■' 


ill 


19 


\  i| 


,!  'fl 


4M 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


II  s; 


rl».     i 


spiration,"  and  to  prove  many  of  its  alleged  divine  truths 
grossly  incorrect.  They  were  foremost  in  the  anti-slavery 
movement,  even  while  bishops  and  priests  were  defending 
slavery  as  being  a  **  divine  institution ;"  there  is  abund- 
ance of  proof  of  this;  they  have  been  among  the  most 
active  leaders  in  the  temperance  movement ;  they  have 
been  prominent  among  the  workers  for  the  abolition  of 
imprisonment  for  debt ;  for  woman's  rights ;  for  the  aboli- 
tion of  the  death  penalty;  and  they  have  alwayo  been 
advocates  for  progress  and  humanJty  in  every  direction. 
So  patent  are  these  facts,  that  even  a  portion  of  the 
religious  press  have  acknowledged  that: 

"Among  all  the  earnest-minded  young  men  who  are  at 
this  moment  leading  in  thought  and  action  in  AiAerica, 
we  venture  to  say  that  four-fifths  are  skeptical  of  the 
great  historical  facts  of  Christianity. 

What  is  told  as  a  Christian  doctrine  by  the  cl  arches 
claims  none  of  their  consideration,  and  there  is  among 
them  a  general  distrust  of  the  clergy,  as  a  cla;  s,  and  an 
utter  disgust  with  the  very  aspect  of  modern  Chrlcitianity 
and  of  church  worship. 

This  skepticism  is  not  flippant ;  little  is  said  about  it. 
It  is  not  a  peculiarity  alone  of  radicals  and  fanatics; 
most  of  them  are  men  of  calm  and  even  balance  of  mind, 
and  belong  to  no  class  of  ultraists.    It  is  not  worldly  and 
selfish.    Nay,  the  doubters  lead  in  the  bravest  and  most 
self-denying  enterprises  of  the  day.''* 
Another  Chris  ian  paper  has  said : 
"To  the  shame  of  the  Church,  it  must  be  confessed, 
that  the  foremost  in  all  our  philanthropic  movements,  in 
the  interpretation  of  the  spirit  of  the  age,  in  the  practical 
application  of  genuine  Christianity,  in  the  reformation  of 
abuses  in  high  and  low  places,  in  the  vindication  of  the 
rights  of  man,  and  in  practically  redressing  his  wrongs  in 
the  intellectual  and  moral  regeneration  of  the  race,  are 
the  so-called  infidels  in  our  land. 


*  ^ew  York  EomngelisU 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


435 


The  Church  has  luisilkmimously  left,  not  only  the 
working  oar,  but  the  very  reins  of  salutary  reform  in  the 
hands  of  men  she  denounces  as  inimical  to  Christianity,- 
and  who  are  practically  doing  with  all  their  might  for 
Humanity's  sake,  what  the  Church  ought  to  be  doing  for 
Christ's  sake ;  and  if  they  succeed,  as  succeed  they  will  in 
abolishing  slavery,  banishing  rum,  restraining  Jcentious- 
ness,  reforming  abuses  and  elevating  the  masses,  then 
must  the  recoil  on  Christ-anity  be  disastrous.  Woe,  woe, 
woe,  to  Christianity  when  infidels  by  the  force  of  Nature, 
or  the  tendency  of  the  age,  get  ahead  of  tne  Church  in 
morals,  and  in  the  practical  work  of  Christianity.  In 
some  instances  they  are  already  far  in  advance.  In  the 
vindication  of  truth,  righteousness,  and  liberty  they  are 
the  pioneers,  beckoning  a  sluggish  Church  to  follow  in  the 


rear 


'» * 


This  testimony  ought  to  be  sufficient;  much  of  such 
could  be  given,  but  were  it  still  more  copious,  clerical 
fulminations  would  be  heard  again,  and  the  question 
would  be  unscrupulously  repeated  in  the  pulpit,  and  on 
platform:  "What  have  iulidols  done  to  benefit  man- 
kind?" 

Now  as  the  Keverend  clergy  and  Christian  men  gener- 
ally are  not  backward  in  claiming  a  moral  superiority 
over  unbelievers,  let  us  hear  what  an  eminent  historian 
says  on  the  subject  of  clerical  faithfulness. 

Upon  his  installation  as  rectoi  of  St.  Andrews  Univer- 
sity, in  April  1869,  Dr.  Froude  in  his  address  said : 

**  We  have  had  thirty  years  of  unexampled  clerical  activ- 
ity, churches  have  been  doubled ;  theological  books,  maga- 
zines, reviews,  newspapers  have  been  poured  out  by 
hundreds  of  thousands,  while  by  the  side  of  it  there  has 
sprung  up  an  equally  astonishing  development  of  moral 
Jishonesty.  From  the  great  houses  in  London  to  the  village 
grocer,  the  commercial  life  of  England  has  been  saturated 
,fith  fraud.    So  deep  has  it  gone  that  a  strictly  honest 


,!  m 


Vtw  Yo^k  Tnd^endeTtt. 


436 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


,.i, 


M  .  ' 


tradesman  can  hardly  hold  his  ground.  You  can  no  longer 
trust  that  any  article  you  buy  is  the  thing  it  pretends  to 
be.  We  have  false  weights,  false  measures,  cheating  and 
shoddy  everywhere.  Yet  the  clergy  have  seen  all  this  in 
absolute  indifference;  and  the  great  question  which  at 
this  moment  is  agitating  the  Church  in  England  is  the 
color  of  the  ecclesiastical  petticoats.  Many  a  hun- 
dred sermons  have  I  heard,  many  a  dissertation  on 
the  mysteries  of  faith,  on  the  divine  mission  of  the  clergy 
on  apostolical  succesion,  on  bishops  and  justification,  and 
the  theory  of  good  works,  and  verbal  inspiration,  and  the 
efficacy  of  the  sacraments,  but  during  these  thirty  won- 
derful years  never  one  that  I  can  recollect  on  common 
honesty,  nor  those  primitive  commandments — thou  shalt 
not  lie — and  thou  shalt  not  steal."  * 

Even  while  Christian  priests  are  deploring  the  sad  con- 
dition of  the  Hea,then,  a  thousand  certificates  could  be 
procured  to  show  that  the  "common  honesty  "  of  Pagan 
and  Mohammedan  countries  is  far  in  advance  of  that  in 
Christian  lands. 

Mr.  Valiant  continued: 

"Presumption  is  the  eounterreit  of  talent.  In  every 
land  that  I  have  visited  I  have  found  priests  of  almost 
every  creed  willing  to  indu'ge  in  notions  of  their  own 
superiority.  I  ask  are  Christian  priests  behind  the  heath- 
ens in  this  respect  ?  Christian  priests  generally  assume 
to  be  possessed  of  superior  knowledge,  and  as  the  Chris- 
tian faith  in  this  land  is  powerful  and  popular,  they  as- 
sume to  give  a  tone  to  public  opinion  and  too  often  debauch 
the  minds  of  legislators;  even  the  Press,  which  should 
be  free,  has  become  deplorably  subservient  to  their  fana- 
ticism, and  it  consequently  follows  that  little  or  no  progress 
or  not  sufficient  progress,  is  made  in  humane  and  merci- 
ful enactments.  What  class  of  men  deserve  to  be  branded 
as  hypocritical  imposters  more  than  those  who  exclaim 
in  pulpit  and  on  plat:orm  against  the  love  of  wealth,  and 

*  From  the  Presbyterian  a  Monthly  Record  for  May  1869— Lovell 
MontreaL 


THE  HEATHENS  Oi'  THE  HEATH. 


437 


lovell 


against  worldlings  who  are  intent  upon  adding  house  to 
house,  and  barn  to  barn,  while  they  themselves  arc  in 
numerous  instances  most  noted  examples  of  cupidity  ? 
What  class  of  men  should  be  denounced  as  false  teachers 
more  than  thev  who  tell  men  at  the  present  day  to  believe 
that  the  myths,  the  mysteries,  the  contradictions,  and  the 
absurdities  of  so-called  inspiration  are  pure  truth,  when 
reason  and  the  higher  inspirr  don.  of  science  plainly  de- 
monstrate the  contrary.  During  ages  progress  was  kept 
at  a  stand  still  by  incorrigible  ecclesiastics— they  can  stop 
it  no  longer.  The  professions  of  the  clergy  respecting 
indifference  to  the  great  world,  and  the  lessons  they  give 
concerning  charity,  humility,  forgiveness,  and  brotherly 
love,  and  their  regard  for  the  poor,  are  frequently  but 
mere  pulpit  utterances,  and  the  shallowest  verbiage.  Who 
more  than  they  are  so  ready  to  flatter  the  rich,  or  become 
obsequious  to  the  powerful?  Who  more  addicted  to 
empty  display  where  they  think  it  can  be  safely  exhibited 
by  gairish  pomp  and  ceremony  in  places  of  worship? 
and  who  are  more  bitter  in  detraction  against  those 
who  dare  to  think  for  themselves,  and  to  dispute  their 
pretensions  and  authority?  As  for  their  regard  for 
the  poor,  many  of  them  no  doubt  have  feeling  hearts  like 
other  men,  and  would  like  to  alleviate  the  wretchedness 
of  poverty ;  but  as  a  general  thing,  though  ostentatious 
in  their  efforts  to  relieve  distress,  as  they  are  in  most  of 
their  other  public  efforts,  the  imaginary  demands  of  the 
Almighty— at  least  Jiis  is  the  plea— have  their  first  con- 
sideration. Instead  of  urging  the  erection  of  additional 
and  vastly  superior  homes  for  the  widow,  and  the  orphan, 
the  aged,  poor,  the  infirm,  and  the  destitute,  the  most 
wonderful  exertions  are  made  to  increase  the  number  of 
lordly  structures  with  towering  steeples— each  of  which  is 
called  a  *'  House  of  God  "—and  to  secure  this  object  they 
have  no  compunction  in  soliciting  the  child's  pence,  the 
widow's  mite,  and  the  poor  man's  shilling,  even  though 
the  pittance  should  be  required  to  provide  food ;  and 
though  increasing  thousands  of  miserable  paupers  should 


^   !■ 


E   ! 


438 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


&/,v 


be  obliged  to  wander  about  without  a  home  or  a  place  of 
shelter.  "* 

During  these  remarks,  the  curate  made  no  observation ; 
he  listened  to  the  reflections  made  against  the  class  to 
which  he  belonged,  more  like  a  person  who  agreed  with 
what  had  been  said,  than  like  one  who  might  feel  inclined 
to  dispute  the  correctness  of  the  severe  assertions.  Esther 
seemed  astonished  at  Mr.  Valiant's  earnestness  of  manner 
and  was  almost  disposed  to  believe  that  much  of  what  had 
been  stated  by  him  was  but  too  true,  and  sufficient  to 
arouse  others  to  think  more  on  such  matters ;  still,  though 
a  great  deal  she  thought  might  be  said  against  the  worldly- 
disposition  of  the  clergy— particularly  those  of  her  own 
church— who  she  believed  were  acting  contrary  to  Christian 
precepts,  she  was  confident  that  the  Christian  religion 
was  superior  to  all  others.  She  had  never  as  yet  allowed 
herself  to  question  its  doctrines;  nor  did  she  wish  to 
harbor  doubts  sufficient  to  lead  to  an  investigation  of  its 
claims.  In  this  respect  Esther  was  only  like  the  great 
majority  of  her  sex— a  blind  believer  in  the  incompre- 
hensible. 

''There  must  be  certainly  something  wrong  in  the 
management  of  public  affairs  in  England,"  said  Charles 
Meade.  "  England  ought  to  lead  in  efforts  of  benevolence 
and  humanity;  she  has  done  much  in  this  respect,  but 
much,  much  more  is  wanting  within  her  own  borders ;  for 
still  it  is  asserted  that  pauperism  is  on  the  increase.  Dur- 
ing the  short  period  since  my  return,  I  have  been  besieged 
by  more  beggars  than  I  ever  saw  during  an  entire  year,  or 
even  during  a  longer  period  in  India.  As  for  London,  in 
spite  of  the  police,  one  is  importuned  one  way  or  another 
for  alms  or  assistance  almost  continually.  The  paupers 
of  London  are  conspicuous  in  almost  every  direction.  It 
is  shocking  to  think  that  with  all  its  reputed  wealth, 
there  should  be  in  England  and  Wales  alone,  over  three 
hundred  and  fifty  thousand  children  under  sixteen  years 


*  See  Note  16.    respecting  clerical  crimes  and  f  railities. 


n: 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


439 


of  age  who  are  solely  depending  on  the  precarious  mainte- 
nance of  public  and  private  charity." 

'•I  tell  you  what,  my  friends,"  continued  Mr.  Valiant, 
•'there  must  be  a  change ;  such  gross  injustice  will  not  be 
allowed  to  exist.    It  is  gross  injustice  to  have  the  fee  sim- 
ple of  the  land  of  this  country  in  the  hands  of  a  few  non- 
l>roducers.    You  must  set  the  land  free  for  the  industrious. 
The  monopolizers  of  the  soil  cry  out  about  existing  rights, 
these,  I  contend,  are  existing  wrongs;  all  men  have  nat- 
ural rights,  one  of  the  principal  of  which  is,  a  right  to  a 
portion  of  the  land  for  cultivation.    Emigration  may  be 
suggested,  it  is  good  in  its  way,  but  not  a  remedy  for 
British  pauperism.    Pauperism  should  not  be  allowed  to 
exist ;  it  can  be  stamped  out.    Set  free  the  land  for  the 
industrious ;  gradually  get  rid  of  war  appropriations,  and 
increase  those  for  the  purposes  of  peace— other  nations 
can  be  induced  to  follow  the  example.    Get  rid  of  your 
army  of  costly  state  pensioners,  of  your  army  of  useless 
priests,  your  army  uf  trained  warriors  and  of  your  army 
of  aristocratic  and  titled  incumbents  and  useless  oiflcials. 
These  measures  may  be  flippantly  pronounced  ri.^^orous, 
unjust,  and  even  impoubible ;  but  they  can  be  none  of  these 
if  attempted  for  the  sole  benefit  of  a  suffering  people. 
Impossible  ?    Elect  legislators  of  the  right  kind  and  the 
thing  is  done ;  a  majority  in  Parliament  in  favor  of  equal 
justice,  humanity,  and  thorough  civilization,  will  over- 
whelm every  despot  and  usurper  in  the  land;  and  the 
demon  of  war  and  destruction  will  be  put  to  flight  forever. 
With  such  a  majority  what  immense^  benefits  would  follow ! 
You  would  have  a  government  which  instead  of  being 
criminally  lavish  would  be  conducted  on  princii)les  of  strict 
economy,  you  would  have  no  need  of  oppressive  burdens 
of  taxation,  and  no  special  exemptions  from  a  fair  asess- 
ment  or  liability  to  contribute  to  the  national  resources ; 
and  the  destitute  of  the  nation,  the  orphan,   the  infirm, 
and  the  aged  poor,  would  be  supported  by  the  nation ;  it 
is  now  done  only  in  part  as  charity;  it  must  eventually 
be  done  as  an  individual  right.    Let  Eng'anc'  lead,  other 


f! 


ifi 


H    I 


440 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


Wm 

H 

liW 

Ii3 

|ii 

natious  I  feel  satisfied  will  follow.  What!  you  exclaim  a 
general  disarming?  I  say  a  general  disarming ;  a  speedy 
destruction  of  missiles  of  war,  or  their  rapid  conversion  in- 
to implements  of  peace,  t  Professing  Christians  have 
talked  long  enough  about  turning  spears  into  pruning 
hooks,  let  them  attempt  it  now ;  the  time  was  never  more 
propitious  for  a  beginning.  Some  government  will  have 
to  make  the  attempt.  I  say  again,  let  England  taKe  the 
honorable  lead  and  the  alleged  impossibility  will  quickly 
disappear.  In  times  not  very  remote,  men  in  most  civil- 
ized nations— or  what  were  called  such— went  armed ;  it 
was  thought  necessary  for  self-protection ;  but  now  in  like 
communities  swords  have  been  flung  aside,  and  men  gen- 
erally decide  their  quarrels  or  disputes,  by  law  or  by  arbi- 
tration without  the  aid  of  either  rapiers  or  revolvers.  It 
must  soon  come  to  this  among  nations. 

Priestly  influence  or  example,  however,  will  never  bring 
about  this  needful  state  of  things.  Physical  force  has 
been  the  right  hand  of  clerical  despotism ;  when  prayers  or 
threats,  or  blessing  or  cursing,  could  not  prevail,  the 
clergy  have  never  hesitated  to  suggest  or  to  approve  of  a 
resort  to  the  sword.  Until  lately  the  Pope  kept  his  own 
standing  army ;  when  saints  or  angels,  or  '  the  glorious 
army  of  martyrs '  were  found  too  dilatory,  or  too  power- 
less, shotted  guns  performed  the  required  miracle.  Priests 
have  blest  the  weapons  of  warriors,  and  have  become 
man-slayers  themselves.  Cromwell's  preachers  urged  his 
pious  legions  on  to  battle,  and  invoked  the  Almighty  to 
grant  th  em  success.  Prayers  for  naval  and  military  tri- 
umphs are  offered  in  the  churches.  Cathedrals  are  often 
decorated  with  banners  taken  in  some  bloody  struggle; 
and  regimental  colors  cannot  be  properly  dedicated  with- 
out the  chaplain's  prayer.  If  war  is  to  be  abolished,  do 
not  wait  for  the  ministers  of  the  Gospel  to  help  you ;  when 

t  It  Is  estimated  that  eighty-three  per  cent  of  the  revenue  of  Great 
Britain  is  expended  for  purposes  of  war  and  only  sevetUeer^  per 
cent,  for  other  alluirs  1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


441 


you  are  sure  of  success,  they  will  volunteer  their  aid* 
You  must  begin  at  the  beginning,  and  the  A.  B.  C.  of  this 
and  every  other  great  reform  in  the  "'uited  Kingdom,  will 
depend  upon  the  intelligence  of  the  electors  and  their 
careful  selection  of  proper  representatives  to  Parliament; 
send  true  men  there,  and  victory  is  assured.  The  Com- 
mons of  England  is  the  political  Omnipotence  of  the 
British  nation. 

Thought  is  the  associate  of  intelligence.    British  work- 
men, and  the  British  people  generally,  have  begun  to 
think  more  about  public  matters  than  they  have  hitherto 
done;  there  must,  therefore,  be  a  change;  the  injustice 
of  centuries  must  come  to  an  end.     You  may  make  up 
your  minds  that  there  will  be  a  revolution  of  some  kind, 
(may  it  be  a  bloodless  one!)  which  will  sweep  away  every 
monster  abuse  that  has  been  created  and  nurtured  by 
despotic   authority.     It    requires   no    far-seeing   eye  to 
detect  the  little  cloud  in  the  distance ;  it  requires  no  great 
discrimination  to  predict  what  is  likely  to  follow.    Great 
abilities  are  not  always  necessary  for  elucidation;  the 
light  of  a  candle  may  sometimes  make  a  printed  page  as 
legible  as  the  light  of  the  sun.    There  are  unknown  and 
unassuming  men  at  the  present  day  in  England  who  can 
tell  you  that  a  vast  change  is  impending ;  that  the  plunder 
of  the  public  for  the  almost  exclusive  benefit  of  certain 
favored  classes,  will  no  longer  be  tolerated;  and  that 
neither  the  class  of  the  very  rich,  nor  the  class  of  the  very 
poor,  if  such  anomalous  conditions  chance  to  remain, 
shall  be  all. wed  to  control  the  destinies  of  the  nation. 
Justice  and  intelligence  alone  shall  govern ;  and  old  Eng- 
land shall  no  longer  be  a  vast  hive  for  royal,  aristocratic, 


*  Pope  Clement  XIII  sent  to  Field  Marshal  Daun.  the  Austrian 
Commander  a,  consecrated  hat  and  sword;  such  gifts  had  been  pre- 
viously given  to  those  who  had  subdued  unbelievers  or  subjugated 

Kq  l»l^o  I»Jq  Tig 

An  English  paper  lately  said:  "  In  the  morning  the  bishop  (Wil- 
berforce)  preached  to  the  local  volunteers,  and  pointed  out  there  was 
nothing  sinful  or  contrary  to  the  Divine  Word  in  a  man  being  a  sol- 
dier. That  a  war  might  be  righteous  one  he  held  to  be  supported  by 
the  Old  and  New  Testament." 


442 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


or  clerical  drones ;  or  a  wide  domain  for  the  indulgence  of 
special  and  unjust  prescriptive  rights.    This  is  what  now 
appears  in  the  future  for  Britain,  no  matter  what  either 
Prime  Minister  or  archbishop  may  assert  to  the  contrary.** 
Mr.  Valiant  was  so  absorbed  with  his  subject,  that  he 
spoke  to  the  few  about  him  with  as  much  energy  as  if  he 
were  addressing  a  vast  assembly  of  the  misgoverned  of 
all  Europe ;  he  made,  however,  a  most  favorable  impres- 
sion on  those  that  heard  him.    Esther  Meade,  in  particu- 
lar, was  struck  by  the  force  of  his  remarks.    The  experi- 
ence which  she  had  already  had,  led  her  to  entertain  no 
very  high  regard  for  the  motives  which  influenced  spirit- 
ual dii^nitaries  that  had  the  regulation  of  Church  affairs. 
In  visiting  the  poor  around  Pendell,  she  had  often  been 
obliged  to  witness  deplorable  scones  of  poverty,  and  it 
caused  her  to  reflect  a  great  deal  as  to  the  true  origin  of 
the  wide  social  dififerences  which  existed  on  every  side. 

When  the  fervid  speaker  had  finished  his  remarks,  the 
curate,  as  if  at  last  impelled  to  speak,  said  reflectively : 
*'  Well,  well,  I  only  wish  that  right  and  justice  throughout 
the  world  had  ten  thousand  such  advocates  as  you ;  the 
great  mass  of  the  wronged  and  the  oppressed  would  be- 
come more  enlighten;'.,  and  tyranny  and  imposition  of 
every  kind  would  soon  be  confined  to  narrow  limits.** 

"  Be  one  of  the  number,  then,"  said  Mr.  Valiant.  "The 
cause  of  mental  freedom  alone  is  the  grandest  that  can 
engage  the  attention  of  the  most  gifted  writer,  the  most 
eloquent  orator,  or  the  most  distinguished  philanthropist. 
There  are,  even  in  England  itself,  over  ten  times  ten 
thousand  intelligent  men  who  lament  the  accumulation 
of  political  and  religious  despotism  that  still  exists  all 
over  the  world,  and  at  the  infatuation  of  dupes  that 
submit ;  yet,  sad  to  say,  a  majority  of  these  men  would 
perhaps  be  afraid  to  speak  out  openly  and  denounce  the 
abuses  which  have  kept  the  most  industrious  so  long  in 
liondage.  They  see  Liberty  still  in  fetters,  and  dare  not 
stand  out  before  all,  and  strike  a  sturdy  blow  to  set  her 
ti'ee.    He  who  has  the  password  of  freedom,  and  who  ia 


1 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  UEATH. 


443 


»> 


afraid  to  whisper  it  to  oiio  who  has  it  not,  is  simply  a 
traitor  to  principle;  and  no  aphorism  can  be  more  true 
than  that  which  says:  *  He  who  hides  a  truth,  betrays  a 
trust.'"* 

It  had  been  agreed  that  the  curate  and  his  friends 
should  visit  the  Heath  the  noxt  day.  Mr.  Valiant  had 
been  anxious  to  have  them  witness  the  great  improve- 
ments that  had  been  made,  and  the  gratifying  progress 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  conduct  and  disposition  of  the 
once  wild  heathens  of  the  plain.  However,  after  he  had 
left  the  curate's  house  that  night,  and  retired  to  his 
lodgings,  he  began  to  reflect  upon  what  he  had  heard  that 
evening,  and  he  grew  quite  indifferent  whether  he  ever 
Again  saw  the  Heath— it  might  be  for  evermore  the  black- 
est desert  to  him.  Never  in  his  life  had  he  felt  so  de- 
spondent. The  weather  had  become  suddenly  tempestu- 
ous, and  the  rain  came  streaming  down  as  if  nature  were 
In  a  fit  of  despair.  For  the  time,  he  ceased  to  take  any 
Interest  in  others,  and  he  began  to  dwell  seriously  upon 
his  own  uncertain  chance  of  domestic  happiness.  The 
aurate,  he  had  been  told,  would  still  reinoin  in  Pendell; 
and  Esther — Esther— he  dwelt  upon  the  name— would 
most  probably  be  far  away.  He  had  counted  upon  the 
companionship  and  assistance  of  the  one,  and  without 
ihe  other— without  her  presence— life  would  be  only  a 


*Scientiflc  men  are  generally  fearless  In  giving  an  opinion  as  to 
<he  merits  of  so  called  "  Sacred  Records,"  or  the  reliance  to  be  placed 
jn  alleged  tlieological  facts.  Yet  even  among  sueli  men  there 
may  be  some  who  are  still  too  timid  to  confront  public  opinion ; 
though  they  may  know  that  such  opinion  Is  based  upon  a  myth.  And 
this  timidity  instead  of  being  censured  meets  the  approval  of  those 
whose  interests  or  whose  prejudices  lead  them  to  urge  on  others  to  a 
blind  belief  In  the  still  popular  fictions  of  "  Inspiration."  As  an 
evidence  of  this  the  Montreal  Witness  quotes  approvingly  regarding 
the  undignified  course  pursued  by  Prof.  Faraday. 

It  seems  that  the  Professor  rf/w.seri  to  investigate  Christian  theology 
from  a  conviction  that  there  was  "an  absolute  distinction  between 
religious  and  ordinary  belief."  (I)  He  declined  to  "  Apply  these  men- 
tal operations  which  he  thought  good  in  respect  of  high  things  to  the 
highest."  (!) 

(From  the  Student  and  Intellectual  Observer,  as  published  in  the 
Montreal  Daily  Witness  of  March  26 1870.) 


n   ■ 


4A4L 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


#''^' 


heavy  burden.  What  would  wealth,  honor,  or  distinction 
be  without  her  to  share  it  ?  But  from  that  which  he  had 
already  heard,  it  was  almost  certain  that  she  would  be 
attracted  by  a  title,  that  her  hand  would  be  bestowed  upon 
II  lordl>  snitor ;  and  tnat  she  was  lost  to  him  forever. 

Tortured  with  apprehension,  he  paced  the  room  for 
hours.  Then  he  sat  thinking ;  he  still  heard  the  patter  of 
the  rain,  and  while  alone  in  the  silent  night,  his  imagina- 
tion had  free  scope.  He  saw  Esther  the  centre  of  intel- 
lectual attraction  in  London ;  he  saw  her  surrounded  by 
noble  and  wealthy  admirers ;  he  saw  her  smile  on  another, 
but  turn  coldly  aside  from  him  ;  he  saAv  how  graciously  a 
noble  widower  had  been  received ;  and,  at  last,  his  heart 
beat  wildly  when  he  saw  a  brilliant  company,  and  Esther 
in  her  bridal  robes.  O,  how  beautiful  she  looked  standing 
before  the  bishop  and  his  attendant  clergy  in  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral ;  he  heard  the  organ's  rich  peal,  and  then  he 
heard  her  solemnly  repeat  the  words  of  the  marriage 
service:  "I,  Esther,  take  thee.  Lord  George  Wedmore,  to 
be  my-  "  He  could  hear  no  more;  he  started  up  and 
paced  the  room  again ;  his  agitation  was  great ;  for  an 
hour  longer  he  could  not  think  of  rest.  At  last  he  becar^e 
wearied  and  lay  down,  almost  willing  to  die,  willing  -o 
sleep,  and  willing  to  seek  solace,  even  in  dream*. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIl. 


THE  RAINBOW. 

''pHE  faint  blush  of  dawn  came  stealing  along  the  verg?» 
of  the  horizon,  like  some  celestial  messenger  that 
yet  hesitated  to  awake  from  its  slumbers  the  youthful 
day.  The  stars  seemed  to  linger,  as  if  to  welcome  its 
approach;  and  the  deep  azure  sky  slowly  changed  its 
gemmed  apparel,  and  appeared  in  its  auroral  vesture  of 
ruddy  golden  light,  and  its  increasing  glow  soon  over- 
spread the  magnificent  arch  of  heaven,  dispersing  every 
shade  of  night. 

The  morning  was  beautifully  fine.  The  sun  rose  in 
majestic  grandeur  like  a  benign  divinity,  after  suddenly 
annihilating  the  darkness,  the  mist,  and  the  gloom  that 
had  prevailed,  and  now  spreading  his  dazzling  glory,  far 
and  w'id.(\  over  a  newly  created  world.  A  thousand  birds 
greeted  h'ln  earliest  beam;  a  thousand  perfumes  were 
intermingled  w  an  incense  offering  to  the  resplendent 
luminary ;  and  a  thousand  rays  seemed  to  glitter  in  every 
dew  drop  that  decke<J  the  latest  Autumn  flower. 

It  would  be  well  for  raany  a  troubled  heart,  if  changes 
akin  to  those  which  so  rcfidily  alter  and  beautify  the  face 
of  nature,  could  also  o<MMir  to  drive  away  as  quickly  the 
clouds,  the  gloom,  and  the  s^>rrow  that  have  continued 
day  af ler  day.,  and  year  after  year,  to  make  certain  human 
lives  miserable ;  but  there  are,  «!as,  .some  whose  sky  must 
ever  remain  thickly  overcast  with  clouds,  which  even  the 
brightest  ray  cannct  penetrate  or  digpel.    The  sunlight 


V 


446 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


;i-H 


r-'^'^' 


may  fall  with  equal  brilliancy  upon  the  palace,  the  hovel, 
the  prison,  or  the  tomb;  its  refulgence  may  bring  an 
increase  of  gladness  to  the  joyful  or  to  the  thoughtless, 
but  there  are  others  around  whom  misery  and  its  black 
train  of  servitors  stand  so  thickly,  and  so  closely,  that 
neither  sun,  nor  moon,  nor  star,  nor  hope  can  ever  reach 
or  enliven  them  more. 

When  John  Valiant  awoke  from  his  troubled  sleep,  the 
bright  scene  from  his  chamber  window  was  not  so  attract- 
ive or  refreshing  to  his  eye  as  it  would  have  been  to  him 
but  a  single  day  previously.  His  dream  of  the  past  night 
had  been  as  delusive  as  the  pleasant  day  dreams  in  which 
he  had  been  lately  indulging  for  some  time.  Esther 
Meade  was  in  his  first  thoughts  when  he  arose ;  and  the 
same  ideas  recurred  that  had  but  a  few  hours  before  so 
agitated  him  wh^r-n  he  had  reflected  on  what  he  had  heard 
of  her  probable  departure,  and  what  he  had  imagined 
would  be  the  result  of  her  intended  visit  to  London. 

However,  he  now  tried  to  rid  himself  of  these  obtrusive, 
disturbing  notions ;  his  philosophy  came  once  more  to  his 
aid;  he  would  make  another  effort  to  submit  to  what 
seemed  inevitable  :  he  would  probably  have  to  pass  most 
of  the  day  in  her  society — it  might  be  the  last  opportunity 
he  would  have  of  spending  so  many  hours  in  her  com- 
pany—and afterward,  when  she  went  away  from  Pendell, 
he  would  endeavor  to  forget  that  she  existed,  and  to  over- 
come the  grievous  disappointment  as  much  as  possible  by 
redoubling  his  efforts  in  the  generous  enterprise  to  which 
he  had  for  nearly  two  yeara  devoted  his  energies  and  so 
much  of  his  great  wealth. 

After  he  had  left  his  friends  the  previous  night,  the 
conversation  among  those  in  the  curate's  parlor  related 
principally  to  the  wonderful  change  which  had  taken 
place  upon  (he  Heath  siL<^e  that  property  had  come  into 
the  possession  of  its  prHt^ent  munilicent  owner.  As  for 
the  proprietor  of  the  Mayston  estate,  no  praise  was  con- 
sidered too  great.  Charles  Meade  gave  Ms  father  a  short 
account  of  how  he  had  become  acquainted  iratli  Mr.  Yai- 


■^^ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


447 


iaiit  in  India,  and  of  what  ho  Icnew  of  hici  while  in  that 
(jountry ;  and  he  told  him  that  the  natives  of  every  caste 
looked  upon  John  Valiant  as  being  almost  equal  to  a 
ruitural  born  Brahmin.  As  the  subject  of  their  conversa- 
tion was  now  absent,  Esther  herself  did  not  hesitate  to 
express  the  high  regard  she  had  for  a  person  so  generally 
esteemed  for  his  kindness  of  heart,  and  so  eminent  for 
his  abilities  and  moral  worth.  She  thought,  however, 
that  his  skepticism  in  religious  mj,tters  might  perhaps  be 
a  great  drawback  to  his  influence. 

"The  ouly  drawback,"  said  Charles  Meade,  "that  can 
ever  effect  his  influence  may  be  that  which  might  possibly 
arise  from  the  jealousy  or  detraction  of  priests;  but  that 
can '  nly  happen  in  a  religious  community  among  whom  he 
has  no  particular  desire  to  enter— that  is  a  simple  notion  of 
your  own  Esther.  Some  of  the  most  distinguished  men  in 
England  to-day,  are  outsijoken  disbelievers  in  all  religion ; 
and  it  must  be  admitted  that  prominently  among  the 
leading  progressive  minds  Ol  nearly  every  country,  you 
will  find  learned,  scientific,  humane,  and  benevolent  men 
who  treat  divine  revelations  of  every  kind,  either  Brahmin, 
or  Christian,  or  Mohammedan,  as  complete  myths.  You 
have  in  England  such  as  Spencer,  Mill,  Tyndall,  Huxley, 
and  Darwin :  you  have  in  Germany  a  thousand  Humboldts ; 
Y'-n  have  a  new  rAce  of  Voltaires  in  France;  you  have* a 
Gi-^ibaldi  in  Italy,  and  a  Castellar  in  Spain  ;  and  where  is 
the  land  eitj  er  in  Europe  or  America  among  whose  princi- 
pal men — the  leaders  par  excellence — are  not  to  be  found 
the  most  pronounced  religious  skeptics.  It  would  not 
be  difficult  to  prove,  that  the  world  is  far  more  indebted 
for  its  present  aoc  ai,  scientific,  and  political  advancement 
to  self-sacrificing  indivickiais  wiLO  disbelieve  in  theology, 
than  it  is  to  those  who  *re  almost  continually  wasting 
efforts  and  sciaJideriing  maae  for  the  propagating  of  relig- 
ious cree<ss  ;  and  if  our  g(»^»«]  ^riend  Valiant  only  consented  . 
to  remain  in  England  he  woald  be  the  kind  of  missionary 
we  want — even  a  ■  led  missionary  to  bishops  and  priests 
themseKea— he  *    iud  liberate  thousands  of  minds  that 


m  ■ 


V 

\  i 


i 

Si 


448 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


ire  uow  in  the  fetters  of  superstition ;  he  would  teach  men 
I  he  true  nature  of  rea^son,  and  the  true  dignity  of  manhood, 
lind  he  would  no  doubt  be  a  leader  in  Parliament  where 
the  many  obtuse  and  self-sufiBcient  members  of  that  body 
would  probably  be  induced  to  unlearn  many  of  their  old 
fogy  ideas  concerning  legislation  and  the  true  functions 
of  good  government." 

Esther  Meade  looked  up  for  a  moment  steadfastly  at 
her  brother.  "  Well  do  you  think,"  said  the  curate,  "  that 
it  is  Mr.  Valiant's  intention  ever  to  leave  this  country 
after  all  that  he  has  been  doing  on  the  Heath?" 

"I  have  reason  to  think  so,"  replied  Charles  Meade. 
"  It  is  just  like  what  he  would  do  if  he  thought  he  could 
be  more  serviceable  elsewhere." 

"And  leave  the  Manor  House  after  it  has  been  re- 
stored ?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  he  would  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  leave 
it  if  it  were  uecessary  to  do  so  in  order  to  provide  another 
refuge  for  the  unfortunate." 

Estho^  became  nervous  and  restless,  she  had  to  place 
her  hand  over  her  eyes — the  glare  of  the  lamp  light  must 
have  affected  Ui«^m. 

"  I  cannot  believe  that  he  has  any  intention  of  leaving 
England,"  said  the  ourate.  "From  what  I  could  learn 
from  him  I  understood  that  it  was  his  intention  to  restore 
the  old  Manor  House,  and  take  up  his  abode  in  it." 

"What!  remain  there  all  alone  at  this  time  of  his  life 
without  a  wife  -with  old  Ziugari  perhaps  as  his  house- 
keeper?" 

"  Oh,  T  know  nothing  about  that, "said  the  curate  laugh- 
ing. "  If  he  should  desire  a  wife  he  may  probably  be  able 
to  tind  one  .soiriewhore  in  England." 

"  The  woman  that  is  to  be  his  wife,"  continued  Charles 
Meade,  emi)hatically,  "  isat  present  in  India.  I  am  confi- 
dent of  that." 

A  neuralgic  pain  must  have  darted  through  Esther's 
head,  she  pres^'d  her  hand  to  her  forehead— she  wa? 
seated  clowe  to  her  fa  ther  and  he  noticed  her  suffering. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


449 


**Itls  inathing,  nothing  at  all,"  said  Esther  with  a  forced 
smile  in  reply  to  his  inquiry,  '*  I  often  have  a  slight  attack 
of  this  kind  when  I  sit  too  long."  She  got  up  and  went  to 
arrange  a  few  flowers  which  had  been  placed  in  a  little 
vase  in  a  corner  of  the  room. 

"  I  feel  pretty  certain  of  that,"  continued  Char'es  Meade, 
scarcely  noticing  the  short  interrup'.ion,  "  for  before  I  left 
Boin})ay  I  had  it  from  a  particular  friend,  that  Mr.  Valiant 
was  engaged— yes  actually  engaged— to  be  married  to  a  dis- 
tant relative  of  his  late  wife— a  wealthy  lady— and  that  he 
was  to  return  within  a  certain  time  to  complete  his  espous- 
al. See  if  he  does  not  leave  for  India  before  this  time  next 
year." 

At  that  moment  the  vase  chanced  to  slip  out  of  Esther's 
hands;  it  fell  on  the  floor  and  was  broken  in  pieces. 
**Well,  well,"  said  she  slowlj'-  **how  really  awkward  I 
am!"  She  stooped  to  pick  up  the  few  flowers  and  the 
fragments ;  she  spent  some  time  at  this,  and  in  trying  to 
press  some  of  the  large  pieces  of  the  broken  vase  together ; 
and  when  she  stood  up  and  turned  to  the  light,  she  was 
smiling  but  her  face  was  rather  pale,  and  the  curate  at 
once  recommended  her  to  retire. 

'*  Oh,  never  mind  that,"  said  he  alluding  to  the  broken 
vase.  "You  look  rather  wearied,  child,  and  need  some 
rest ;  you  know  we  shall  have  to  start  at  an  ea  ly  hour  to- 
morrow for  the  Heath,  and  you  ought  to  retire." 

Esther  placed  the  flowers  iind  the  fragments  aside ;  she 
collected  a  few  scattered  sheets  of  music  together,  and  in  a 
few  moments  bid  all  good  night ;  but  when  she  got  to  her 
room,  instead  of  seeking  repose,  she  threw  herself  deject- 
edly into  a  chair ;  she  had  a  strange  feeling  of  despondency 
-—a  kind  of  sinking— she  gave  a  few  heavy  sighs  and  then 
covered  her  face  and  wept. 

Charles  Meade,  Eanee,  and  the  curate  still  remained 
in  the  parlor.  "  Now,"  said  Charles  Meade  resuming  the 
conversation,  and  addressing  his  father,  **  speaking  of 
marriage  reminds  me  of  the  singular  intimacy  that  has 
always  existed  between  old  Stephen  Gray,  and  Sarah  AftoD 


in    i'.''l 


B  i: 


1^ ;; 


I        <i 


HJ 

t 


450 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


r-;  M'' 


wmn 


—something?  far  beyond  ordinary  friendship.  Years  ago, 
before  I  left  home  for  India,  I  remember  well  having  been 
told  that  there  was  a  kind  of  engaq^ement  between  them ; 
and  that  they  were  to  be  married  some  time.  They  are 
not  relatives ;  for  Stephen  once  told  me  so ;  they  are  not 
married,  they  still  live  apart  just  as  they  did  years  back ; 
and  now,  on  my  return  to  Pendell,  after  a  long  absence,  I 
find  that  this  strange  attachment  still  continues  as  strong 
as  ever ;  it  is  most  extraordinary.  One  would  think  that 
people  at  their  time  of  life— for  they  are  both  very  old- 
would  be  indifferent  to  any  very  tender  feeling.  When 
Kanee  and  I  called  at  Sarah's  cottage  the  other  evening, 
old  Stephen  chanced  to  come  in  while  we  were  there,  and 
it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  there  was  something  more 
than  ordinary  friendship  between  them." 

The  curate  paused  for  a  few  moments  before  he  replied 
"The  attachment  to  which  you  allude,"  said  he,  **  had 
long  been  a  subject  of  conversation  in  this  parish,  but 
time  has  detracte  1  from  its  interest,  and  the  matter  is  now 
scarcely    mentioned.     When  I  came   here    many  years 
since,  I  saw  that  there  was  an  understanding  of  some 
kind  between  Stephen  and  Sarah,  but  I  was  never  suffi- 
ciently curious  to  inquire  what  it  really  was.    They  are 
two  of  the  worthiest  persons  I  ever  knew,  simple  and 
harmless  as  children,  but  I  fancy  too  much  under  the 
influence  of  superstitious  notions  concerning  the  interfer- 
ence of  witches,  or  fairies,  or  unseen  beings,  in  mortal 
affairs;  and  both  of  them  are  strong  believers  in  spells, 
omens,  and  predictions,  such  a  belief  has,  I  fear,  so  far 
blighted  their  lives,  and  kept  them  as  they  are.    During 
Esther's  late  illness,  old  Sarah  spent  most  of  her  time 
with  us.    She  and  I  had  many  a  long  talk  about  various 
matters  of  past  days,  and  among  other  things  I  referred 
to  the  rumor  that  had  once  been  common  about  herself 
and  Stephen ;  and,  after  a  little  hesitation,  she  told  me 
that  a  few  years  before  I  came  to  this  parish  she  and 
Stephen  had  been  engaged  and  were  to  have  been  married 
on  a  certain  day ;  nearly  every  preparation  had  been  made 


m 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


451 


.go, 
een 
Bin; 
are 
not 
ack; 
ce,  I 
rong 
that 
old— 
Vhen 
ning, 
5,  and 
more 


for  the  nupitals.  The  first  of  May  had  been  named  for  the 
ceremony,  but  an  intimate  friend  had  informed  her,  that 
that  was  an  unlucky  day  for  a  marriage;  besides  it  hap- 
pened to  fall  on  Friday,  and  that  decided  them  to  change 
it  to  the  next  day;  and  it  was  so  fixed.  However,  it 
subsequently  occured  to  Sarah,  that  the  second  of  May 
was  the  anniversary  of  her  great-grandfather's  murder  at 
Pendell,  and  she  would  have  the  ceremony  put  off  for 
another  day,  only  she  believed  that  it  would  be  inauspicious 
to  defer  it  more  than  once. 

In  the  meantime  Stephen  had  gone  to  see  some  of  his 
relatives  at  a  distance,  and  to  purchase  a  ring.  He  was 
to  have  been  back  early  on  the  second  of  May;  but  he 
did  not  return  till  evening,  and  brought  the  disconsolate 
news,  that  in  coming  through  the  church  yard  he  had 
dropped  the  ring  near  the  very  spot  where  Sarah's  great 
grandfather  had  been  put  to  death,  and  that  he  had 
searched  for  hours  without  success.  To  lose  the  ring  was, 
it  seems,  considered  a  most  unlucky  omen ;  besides  on  his 
way  back  to  Pendell  Stephen  had  observed  a  hare  to  run 
across  the  road,  just  in  front  of  him— another  bad  sign. 
The  marriage  was  at  once  put  off.  Were  the  marriage  to 
take  place  under  such  circumstances,  it  would  be  followed, 
it  was  asserted,  by  dire  misfortune.  Sarah  and  Stephen 
felt  that  this  unforsaen  occurrence  was  a  great  afflic- 
tion ;  but  it  was  one  which  must  be  submitted  to.  Sarah 
had  been  assured  by  some  wandering  fortune  teller  who 
was  then  in  the  neighborhood,  that  Stephen  and  she 
would  never  be  united  until  the  ring  was  recovered ;  and 
that  it  would  he  useless  to  search  for  it  at  any  other 
time  but  the  second  day  of  May. 

For  over  forty  years  poor  Stephen  has  made  his  annual 
search  in  the  grave  yard,  but  still  the  ring  is  missing ;  and 
although  he  insists  that  it  is  there  still,  yet  it  is  most 
likely  that  it  will  never  be  seen  again  by  the  parties  most 
concerned  in  its  recovery." 

"  How  very  singular!  "  said  Ranee,  giving  her  husband 
a  meaning  look.    "  You  know  I  am  noted  for  being  able 


^:i 


152 


THE  HEATU£NS  OF  THE  HEATH, 


i       -! 


!%!..,  ?i 


to  find  things  which  have  been  long  lost.  I  have  more 
than  once  dreamt  of  finding  a  ring  in  a  cemetery ;  and  since 
I  have  beeninPendell  the  very  same  dream  has  returned." 

"  If  Stephen  oilers  a  reward  it  may  be  worth  your  while 
to  make  a  search,"  replied  Charles  Meade  laughing. 

*'  Now  that  I  remember,"  said  the  curate,  "Sarah  also 
told  me  that  having  much  confidence  in  Zingari's  ability 
to  predict,  she  '^nce  called  on  her,  but  the  old  gypsy  wo- 
man gave  her  but  liillc  encouragement ;  she  merely  told 
Sarah  that  the  ring  would  never  be  found  until  a  search 
was  made  for  it  by  one  who  was  yet  in  a  foreign  country." 

"Then  I  had  better  try  some  time,"  said  Ranee,  "per- 
haps I  shall  be  the  lucky  stranger." 

"You  must  wait  until  the  first  of  May  next,"  said 
Charles  Meade.  "  You  know  this  is  only  the  beginning  of 
October." 

"You  must  remember,"  said  the  curate  jocosely,  "that 
the  search  must  be  made  on  the  second  of  May,  not  on 
the  first." 

"  Oh,  then,"  said  Ranee  in  a  sprightly  manner,  "  I  shall 
remember,  and  we  shall  have  to  come  here  from  London 
on  the  second  of  May  next  to  search  for  old  Stephen's 
ring— and  if  I  find  it?" 

"  Then,"  said  the  curate,  "  there  may  be  a  golden  wed- 
ding." 

At  an  early  hour  they  all  started  for  the  Heath.  They 
had  a  carriage  and  a  pair  of  liorses  lurnished  by  Mr.  Val- 
iant, and  lest  the  spirited  animals  should  become  restless 
he  undertook  to  drive  them  himself.  Did  he  wish  to  be 
alone  ? 

Esther  had  had  a  restless  night,  but  the  clear  pure 
morning  air  seemed  to  revive  her,  and  her  wonted  cheer- 
fulness almost  returned.  Her  brother  and  Ranee  indul- 
ged in  sprightly  conversation  and  quizzed  her  about  the 
noble  widower  in  London ;  they  told  her  it  was  probable 
that  she  would  soon  ride  in  her  own  coach  which  would 
have  an  aristocratic  coat  of  arms  emblazoned  on  its 
panels. 


'  t\ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


453 


She  of  course  considered  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
appear  annoyed  by  their  remarks  and  she  tried  to  submit 
to  the  infliction  with  th«5  best  grace  she  could,  trusting 
that  the  unwelcome  subject  would  soon  be  worn  out.  She 
had  some  hopes  that  Mr.  Valiant  could  not  hear  what  they 
were  saying,  but,  as  if  fate  would  have  it,  every  word 
which  in  any  way  related  to  her,  reached  his  ears  at 
once,  even  while  the  wheels  rattled  upon  the  hard  road  ; 
but  if  Esther  only  knew  the  depressing  effect  that  these 
words  had  upon  h's  mind,  she  would  have  been  the  hap- 
piest person  present. 

The  curate  was  the  imago  of  quiet  contentment,  he 
looked  with  a  placid  smile  on  each  familiar  spot  as  they 
went  along,  and  he  greeted  with  pleasant  face  those  whom 
they  chanced  to  pass  upon  the  way. 

What  a  change  in  the  ai>pearance  of  the  once  bleak, 
sterile,  and  inhospitable  Heath.  Every  object  that  had 
disfigured  the  place  had  been  removed.  There  were  no 
tainted  festering  pools;  no  filthy  taverns,  such  as  the 
"  Book's  Nest,"  or  the  **  Bull  Dog  " ;  no  squalid,  brawling, 
ruffianly  assemblage  around  them  eager  to  indulge  in 
strong  drink,  as  a  preparation  for  their  Sunday  revelry  of 
blood.  There  were  no  polluted  hovels  in  which  deptitu- 
tjon  presided,  or  in  which  disease  and  vermin  were  bred 
to  afflict  the  wretched  occupants ;  no  vicious,  slatternly 
women  moped  about;  and  no  half  nude,  hungry,  and 
dejected  looking  children  could  be  seen  toiling  as  it  were 
for  death,  or  lying  listlessly  around,  worn  out  by  severe 
labor,  as  if  anxiously  awaiting  their  final  release.  What  a 
happy  change  from  this !  what  a  cheering  alteration  in  the 
aspect  of  the  place,  and  in  the  condition  of  the  people  i 

The  carriage  was  stopped  upon  a  little  eminence  over' 
looking  a  wide  plain  of  verdure,  they  halted  to  gaze  upon 
the  picture  of  lovlineb*:;  and  rustic  beauty  spread  out  before 
them.  The  sunlight  of  the  clear  October  day  lent  irs 
mellowing  glow  to  rural  scenes,  disjilaying  here  and  there 
a  pleasing  contrast  with  the  shadows.  A  hundred  bleat- 
ig  sheep  fed  around ;  and  numerous  drowsy  cattle  resr^c} 


; :.   .-I 


454 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


^ 

■•'   .„  ■<' 
H' ' 

'%. 


by  the  road  side.  Nearly  a  hundred  cottages,  white,  oi 
colored  according  to  fancy,  could  be  seen,  many  of  which 
were  almost  -jovered  with  clustering  vines.  In  front  ol 
every  dwelling  there  was  a  piece  of  richly  cultivated 
ground  in  which  clumps  of  young  trees  were  flourishincr, 
and  the  flowers  which  still  lingered  among  them,  seemed 
desirous  of  sending  their  welcome  of  fragrance  to  the 
visitors.  The  sturdy  ploughman's  song,  the  wanderin^. 
school  boy's  whistling,  the  thrushes'  soft  notes,  and 
even  the  hum  of  the  spinning  wheel,  could  be  heard  like 
the  distant  sound  of  mingled  melodies. 

About  the  centre  of  the  plain  there  were  several  acres 
reserved  as  a  park,  around  and  through  which  a  number 
of  young  trees  and  shrubs  were  thickly  planted.  Midway 
in  the  centre  of  this  park  there  was  a  handsome  fountain ; 
and,  at  a  short  distance,  there  was  a  large,  new  building— 
not  a  church,  but  an  ifice  intended  for  an  academy  and 
a  scientific  institute.  It  had  a  spacious  hall  which  could 
be  used  for  public  meetings,  assemblies,  leciures,  musical 
and  dramatic  performances,  or  other  intellectual  recrea- 
tions. There  were  two  or  three  other  buildings  designed 
for  public  purposes;  and  it  was  evident  thrt  every  arrange- 
ment on  the  Heath  was  carefully  made  for  the  benefit  of 
the  whole  community. 

Not  a  word  was  yet  spoken,  the  visitors  remained  seated 
in  the  carriage,  and  were  strurk  with  admiration ;  even 
John  Valiant  seemed  to  regard  the  quiet  scene  with  a  new 
feeling  of  pleasure;  and  before  he  drove  away  from  the 
spot  he  received  the  warm  congratulations  of  his  friends. 

**  You  perceive  a  great  change  here,"  said  he,  *'  but  it  is 
only  such  a  change  as  might  easily  be  made  upon  fifty 
other  Heaths  all  over  England,  had  your  perverse  priests, 
and  their  frenzied  contributors,  only  sufficient  discrimina- 
tion toexpend  their  ample  missionary  funds  for  the  comfort 
and  civilization  of  the  thousands  of  the  almost  brutal  an  I 
hungry  heathen  in  Britain,  instead  of  wasting  their 
energies  and  their  resources  by  ineffectual  attempts  to 
proselytize  more  enlightened,  and  better  fed  pagans  in 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  Ht.ATH. 


455 


and 
like 


flistant  lands.  P^ide  by  side  on  that  plain  below  us,  you 
will  find  the  natives  of  different  countries  living  in  peace 
togetiior,  they  have  been  taught  to  overcome  the  foolish 
];rejudice  of  naticuiality  ;  and  Ihey  will  soon  learn  to  si)eak 
one  language  common  to  all.  You  will  find  men  whose 
minds  were  once  dwarfed  by  religious  dogmas,  now  ex- 
panding t  'leir  ideas  under  the  iuii)ul.-e  of  the  nobler  creed 
of  humanity ;  and  if  you  try  to  ri  I  the  world  of  its  partial 
and  erroneous  conceptions  respecting  religion  and  nation- 
ality, you  will  soon  get  rid  of  the  burden  of  priests  and 
soldiers.  Free  the  land  from  its  bondage  of  monopoly 
and  entail,  and  you  will  quicklv  limit  pauperism  and 
crime,  and  you  will  have  fewer  prisons  and  work  houses ; 
and  your  costly  churches  instead  of  being  pretentious 
fabrics  for  sui-erstition  and  useless  di.'-play  will  become 
useful  at  last  as  instil  ut  ions  of  learning,  or  for  other  requi- 
site public  purposes;  endeavor  to  secure  these  changes 
and  you  commence  to  clear  the  way  for  the  general  civili- 
zation of  the  world." 

As  Mr.  Valiant  did  not  wish  that  there  should  be  any 
particular  demonstration  of  welcome  for  himself  or  his 
friends  upon  their  arrival  he  had  i)reviously  sent  word  to 
Harry  Tambliu  his  principal  manager  or  overseer,  to  make 
a  few  simple  preparations.  IMr.  Valiant  had  a  neat  cottage 
on  the  Heath  which  he  humorously  called  the  "Town 
House,"  and  in  which  he  also  had  his  temporary  office 
for  the  transaction  of  business.  He  and  his  sou  resided 
there  together ;  he  got  a  respectable  old  lady  from  Lon- 
don to  keep  house  for  him,  and,  altogether,  he  was  very 
comfortable.  His  time,  when  on  the  Heath,  was  mostly 
spent  in  seeing  that  the  improvements  lie  was  desirous  of 
making  were  properly  carried  out,  and  in  visiting  and 
encouraging  these  whom  he  had  induced  to  become  act- 
ual settlers  on  the  Plain;  and  he  was  careful  to  devote 
certain  hours  every  day  to  the  instru(.*tion  o.  his  son. 

Harry  Tamblin  was  ijresent  \vhen  they  drove  up  to  the 
large  new  building  in  the  centre  of  the  park.  It  was  not 
yet  quite  finished,  but  Harry  had  got  one  of  the  rooms 


■0^    <'X 
i  ■      :1 


456 


THE  HEATH KNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


"If  Is 


mm  ki'] 


neatly  decorated,  and  a  table  was  laid  out  and  well  cover- 
ed with  choice  rofreslimentH,  sufficient  to  tempt  the  appe- 
tite. Before  they  sat  down  to  the  repast  Mr.  Valiant  sent 
an  invitation  to  Zingari  to  join  them,  but  the  messenger 
soon  returned  and  informed  them  that  she  was  absent, 
which  was  a  cause  of  regret  to  them  all. 

After  dinner  they  inspected  the  building.  The  hall 
was  of  large  dimensions,  and  the  other  rooms  m.ost  suita- 
ble for  the  purposes  for  which  they  had  been  designed. 
"This  might  be  your  church,"  said  Mr.  Valiant  to  the  cur- 
ate in  a  slightly  reproachful  tone,  "but  you  would  not 
accept  my  'call.*  " 

"Well,  never  mind,  my  good  friend,  "replied  the  curate 
in  a  soothing  manner.  "  It  might  have  been  better  that  I 
had,  but  I  shall  turn  pluralist  for  the  time  being,  and  have 
two  i)arishes.** 

"And  if  you  do,"  continued  Mr.  Valiant,  "you  must 
also  have  two  creeds ;  you  must  leave  your  old  creed  at 
Pendell.  Your  parishioners  here  will  require  a  far  differ- 
ent gospel." 

Other  places  were  visited,  and  all  were  really  delighted 
at  what  they  had  witnessed.  Mr,  Valiant,  although  very 
attentive,  was  noticed  not  to  be  in  his  usual  high  spirits. 
Esther  observed  this  also,  and  she  was  struck  by  his  unus- 
ual reserve  towards  herself.  Most  of  the  time  he  walked 
with  Ranee,  and  showed  her  the  principal  share  of  his 
attention,  and  Miss  Meade  at  once  suspected  that  he  was 
probably  taking  this  opportunity  of  encouraging  a  private 
conversation  about  the  lady  in  India  to  whom  he  was  en- 
gaged. Esther's  feelings  at  the  moment  were  not  to  be 
envied,  but  the  usual  womanly  resource  was  adopted,  and 
she  appeared  not  only  to  be  quite  indifferent,  but  made  a 
great  effort  at  gayety.  This  was  perceived  by  Mr.  Valiant 
and  he  in  turn  was  led  into  the  error  of  attributing  this 
liveliness  of  manner  on  the  part  of  Miss  Meade  to  the 
pleasurable  emotions  whi  ih  occurred  to  her  when  she 
thought  of  her  intended  visit  to  London. 

Paving  visited  different  places  on  the  Heath,  and  hav- 


l\ 


THE  HEATHENS  UF  THE  HEATH. 


457 


Ing  thoroughly  satisfied  his  friends  that  his  effortfi  to  civi- 
lize the  once  infamous  inhabitants  of  "  Devil's  Dale  "  were 
already  a  success,  Mr.  Valiant  was  anxious  to  have  his 
visitors  see  the  improvements  made  toward  the  restora- 
tion of  the  old  Manor  House.  A  pleasant  drive  brought 
them  in  view  of  the  building.  It  was  situated  on  an  emi- 
nence and  surrounded  by  large  oaks,  some  of  which  had 
probably  been  planted  by  the  founder  of  the  original 
structure.  The  primitive  stronghold— for  almost  every 
edifice  of  any  importance  in  the  days  of  villanage  was 
considered  a  stronghold— must  have  exhibited  an  appear- 
ance of  stern  grandeur ;  parts  of  the  ancient  massive  walls 
still  covered  with  ivy,  seemed  to  defy  the  hand  of  time, 
an  old  buttress  could  yet  be  seen  half  hidden  under  its 
load  of  dark  green  leaves ;  and  a  watch  tower  at  the  end 
of  battlemented  masonry,  was  still  allowed  to  remain  as 
a  memorial  of  the  disturbed  feudal  times  in  England 
when  scarcely  one  ever  doubted  the  propriety  of  the  ap- 
horism that,  "  Might  makes  Right."  The  restored  part 
of  the  building  was  an  api)roach  to  the  Elizabethean  style, 
and  its  simplicity  was  in  marked  contrast  with  the  hoary 
exterior  of  the  architecture  of  the  early  Norman  times. 
A  green  sloping  bank  was  in  front  of  the  Manor  House,  a 
wide  terrace  was  below  that,  and  at  the  north  end  of  this 
plateau,  as  well  as  from  the  upper  rooms  in  the  mansion 
a  line  view  could  bo  had  through  an  opening  between  the 
intervening  trees ;  and  during  a  storm  the  roar  of  the  ocean 
could  be  distinctly  heard,  and  this,  with  the  rush  of  the 
gale  through  the  great  extended  branches  and  the  knotted 
limbs  of  the  old  oaks  made  a  tumult  that  would  be  alarm- 
ing to  many.  Now,  however,  that  the  day  was  beautifully 
calm  and  clear,  the  scene  was  one  of  reposing  grandeur. 
The  visitors  went  through  the  various  apartments,  and 
up  to  the  old  watch  tower  from  which  an  extensive  and 
magnificent  prospect  could  be  had.  They  gazed  for  a 
time  in  silence  at  the  glorious  picture  spread  out  before 
them.  Esther  was  delighted  and  stated  that  she  had 
never  before  seen  anything  so  fine. 


:^l 


ill 


U:   ■-         '■: 

;  1- 


458 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


U 


When  they  descended  from  the  tower,  Charles  Meade 
and  Ranee  went  off  together  to  explore  some  secluded 
si)ot;  and  the  curate,  who  remained,  with  his  daughter, 
addressed  Mr.  Valiant,  and  said :  "  Well,  you  were  inclined 
to  blame  me  for  not  taking  up  my  abode  on  the  Heath, 
but  what  shall  I  say  to  you  for  thinking  to  leave  such  a 
place  as  this  ?  " 

"Leave  this  place!"  replied  Mr.  Valiant  with  some 
surprise. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  curate,  "I  have  been  told  that  it 
is  your  intention  to  return  to  India  before  very  long." 

"Return  to  India,"  echoed  Mr.  Valiant  with  astonish- 
ment. "  Weil,  my  dear  friend,  you.have  been  greatly  mis- 
informed, I  never  intend  to  leave  England  again.  There," 
said  he,  pointing  to  the  Manor  House,  "  in  that  I  expect 
to  live  the  remainder  of  my  life." 

Esther  Meade  looked  into  John  Valiant's  face  with  an 
incpiiring  gaze.    I&  it  possible,  thought  she,  that  I  have 

understood  him  correctly  ?    She  told  her  father  that  she 

felt  a  little  tired,  and  they  went  and  sat  together  upon  a 

rustic  seat  on  the  spacious  lawn. 

"I  am  indeed  delighted  to  learn,"  said  the  curate, 
"that  you  intend  to  remain,  and  to  have  this  from  your 
own  lips.  Charles  told  me  he  had  been  informed  that 
you  were  under  a  peculiar  engagement  to  return  to  that 
country." 

"An  engagement!  Did  he  say  what  the  nature  of  it 
was  ?  "  inquired  Mr.  Valiant,  still  much  surprised. 

The  curate  r  lused  before  he  ventured  to  reply ;  and 
Esther,  though  affecting  to  look  around  with  indifference, 
was  intensely  hiterested  in  the  conversation. 

"Well,  I  really—really  imagine— I  think  it  was  a— an 
engagement  to  be  married  to  a  lady  in  India."  The  curate 
spoke  in  a  hesitating  manner,  as  if  afi  aid  to  commit  him- 
self in  any  way  to  what  might  be  an  unfounded  rumor. 

Mr.  Valiant  laughed  aloud,  the  first  and  only  hearty 
laugh  he  had  given  for  a  day  or  two,  and  the  ringing 
sound  of  his  voice,  as  it  echoed  under  the  great  trees,  per- 


■ 


4 


THE  HEATHENa  OF  THE  HJiATH. 


459 


haps  satisfied  Esther  more  fully  than  if  he  had  made  the 
most  solemn  asseveration  in  contradiction  of  what  her 
brother  had  stated. 

"O,  what  in  the  name  of  hearons,"  exclaimed  John 
Valiant,  "could  have  put  that  into  any  one's  head!  I 
scarcely  think  Charles  would  have  origiDated  such  a  tale; 
the  jesi'  would  be  too  transparent,  but  Idt  me  assure  you, 
once  for  all,  that  there  is  no  truth  whatever  in  the  story. 
There  is  no  woman  in  India  on  whom  my  heart  is  set,  and 
I  fear,"  said  he,  lowering  his  voice  almost  to  a  whisper, 
"  there  is  no  lady  in  England  whom  I  care  for,  that  would 
be  willing  to  Jink  her  fate  with  mine." 

Before  he  had  finished  the  sentence,  he  t'  ned  his  look 
full  upon  Esther's  face,  as  if  thb  last  words  were  intended 
for  her  ear  alone ;  a  blush  of  the  deex)est  crimoon  over- 
spread her  countenance;  and  he,  so  capable  of  detecting 
the  hidden  cause  of  human  emotions,  and  of  understand- 
ing the  genuine  impulses  of  the  human  breast,  tiawat  once 
through  the  depths  of  that  very  blush,  that  Esther's  heart 
was  still  free;  or  rather,  that  it  was  his  to  win,  even 
though  the  once  envied  Lord  Wedmore,  or  the  noblest 
suitor  in  England,  were  to  approach,  her  ou  beaded  knees. 

The  curate  made  no  further  remarks  on  the  subject. 
Esther's  heart  beat  wildly ;  and  John  Valiant,  as  if  affect- 
ed by  such  a  sudden  glimpse  of  hope  and  of  heaven, 
became  silent,  and  bent  his  eyes  reflectively  upon  the 
moss-covered  gnarled  roots  of  one  of  the  large  trees  be- 
fore him. 

While  thus  thinking,  an  apparition  appeared.  Zingari 
was  seen  at  a  distance,  emerging  from  the  thick  shade  of 
one  of  the  most  closely  wooded  recesses  on  the  Manor. 
The  curate  got  up  at  once,  as  if  desirous  of  meeting  her, 
but  the  old  gypsy  woman  had  already  noticed  him,  and 
remained  to  await  his  approach.  She  sat  upon  the  trunk 
of  a  fallen  tree,  and  the  curate  and  she  continued  together 
for  some  time,  apparently  in  earnest  conversation.  Zin- 
gari frequently  pointed  to  the  Manor  House,  and  then 
toward  the  place  where  John  Valiant  and  Esther  were 


m 


460 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEA.TH. 


yet  seated.  What  was  said  between  these  younger  {)eople 
under  the  shade  of  the  great  oaks,  in  the  curate's  absence, 
is  unknown  to  any  but  themselves ;  however,  when  Zin- 
gari  and  the  curate  reached  them,  Esther  still  sat  blush- 
ing, but  John  Valiant  suddenly  seized  her  hand,  and  as 
they  both  stood  up,  his  eyes  were  filled  with  tears  of  joy 
when  he  asked  the  Kev.  Mr.  Mead<\  and  his  old  gypsy 
friend,  to  sanction  and  to  witness  his  betrothal. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 


SUNSHINE. 


'    ii! 


T171THIN  three  weeks  from  the  time  of  her  late  excur- 
"  ^  sion  to  the  Heath,  Esther  Meade  left  Pendell  to 
accompany  her  brother  and  Ranee  on  a  visit  to  London ; 
and  much  as  she  had  desired  to  see  more  of  the  attractions 
of  the  great  city,  sho  now  left  her  home  with  evident 
regret;  indeed  she  would  have  remained,  were  it  not  for 
the  urgent  manner  in  which  her  father  pressed  her  to  go 
for  a  time. 

Never  had  mortal  found  six  months  pass  more  drearily 
than  John  Valiant  had  during  her  absence.  Six  months 
without  having  seen  Esther  was  to  him  an  age  of  punish- 
ment. He  had  often  been  tempted  to  follow  her  to  London, 
but  he  had  refrained  from  doing  so  lest  it  should  be  con- 
sidered an  evidence  of  childish  impulse.  In  his  imagina- 
tion the  winter  was  interminably  long,  and  lingering  as  if 
resolved  that  spring  should  never  return.  What  a  bleak 
period  in  his  existence  1 

As  a  kind  of  solace  he  went  to  Pendell  very  often,  he 
visited  the  curate  frequently,  seldom  less  than  once  a  week, 
to  inquire  about  Esther-— she  was  never  absent  from  his 
thoughts,  and  though  he  endeavored  to  apply  himself  dili- 
gently to  the  affairs  of  his  little  colony,  yet  the  duty  began 
to  grow  wearisome,  and  he  fancied  that  every  succeeding 
day  presented  a  more  gloomy  appearance  than  the  one 
which  had  preceded  it. 

The  curate  had,  according  to  promise,  gone  to  the  Heath 


% 


i 

i 


462 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  ^EATE. 


m* 


regularly,  and  was  greatly  pleased  to  remark  the  increas- 
ing progress  that  was  gradually  taking  place  among  th« 
people  of  the  plain.  He  spent  much  of  his  time  with  Mr. 
Valiant,  and  they  often  went  together  to  the  Manor  House 
in  which  arrangements  were  being  made  for  its  perma- 
nent occupation. 

The  March  winds  came  at  last,  they  came  unusally 
rough  and  wild,  as  if  making  a  determined  effort  to  rout 
the  tardy  Winter,  and  to  sweep  away  every  vestige  of  it. 
The  boistorous  forerunner  of  Spring  seemed  to  take  delight 
in  raising  mighty  pyramids  on  the  wide  desert  of  the  sea; 
in  striding  upon  mountain  billows,  balancing  great  ships 
in  its  extended  hands ;  in  assailing  lofty  towers,  and  mak- 
ing them  tremble ;  in  rushing  madly  through  the  naked 
forest,  tossing  up  clouds  of  withered  leave?  ;  and  in  making 
venerable  oaks  sway  with  laughter,  and  crack  their  sides 
at  its  gleeful  turmoil;  and  then  when  the  dark  grey 
clouds  had  been  blown  far  apart,  and  oases  of  blue  sky 
appeared  again,  the  reckless  messenger  grew  wearied,  lay 
down  and  slept. 

Then  came  April  with  tearful,  timorous  look,  lifting 
cautiously  its  azure  veil  as  if  to  discover  whether  its  dewy 
footsteps  had  awakened  its  b  "^tering  precursor;  and  as 
soon  as  it  had  shaken  out  its  su  .ny  ringlets,  and  scattered 
flowers  around  with  a  lavish  hami  to  beautify  the  earth, 
then  came  Esther  Meade  back  again  like  the  sunlight  to 
Pendell,  to  banish  the  winter  from  her  father's  home— 
and  from  John  Valiant's  heart. 

Esther  did  not  return  alone,  Ranee  was  with  her. 

Seme  great  preparations  had  to  be  made,  some  house- 
hold affairs  had  to  be  managed,  and  although  much  had 
already  been  done  toward  furnishing  and  fitting  up  the 
Manor  House,  Mr.  Valiant  wished  to  consult  Ranee  as  to 
other  matters  in  that  relation  which  required  her  special 
attention. 

During  Esther's  stay  in  London  she  had  hri-rd  several 
of- the  most  celebrated  musicians;  au'l  moce  rlian  one 
opi)ortunity  had  been  given  hei  of  satiwf  7in<,'  \he  <^iitical, 


\nt^ 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


463 


that  her  wonderful  skill  on  the  organ  could  not  be  excelled 
evon  in  the  great  metropolis.  She  had  reason  to  feel 
iiVoutl  of  this,  and  to  be  greatly  flattered  by  the  many 
compliments  which  had  been  paid  her  by  several  eminent 
persons.  As  for  Lord  Wedmore,  his  attentions  were 
almost  constant ;  he  was  certainly  a  person  of  distinguislied 
abilities,  of  great  good  sense,  and,  for  one  in  his  position, 
no  way  assuming.  His  attachment  to  Miss  Meade  wats 
sincere,  and  had  become  stronger  every  day,  Ranee,  and 
her  brother,  had  noticed  this  particularly,  and,  as  a  duty 
to  herself,  it  was  with  the  greatest  pain  that  she  had  been 
obliged  to  undeceive  her  noble  suitor,  to  prostrate  his 
hopes,  to  explain  her  position,  and  to  refuse  the  offer  of 
his  hand.  For  Lord  Wedmore  she  ever  afterward  enter- 
tained the  highest  regard;  the  greatest  compliment  that 
a  man  can  pay  a  woman  had  been  ])aid  to  her  by  him; 
and  her  grateful  heart  appreciated  it  accordingly.  In  the 
kindest  possible  manner  she  gave  him  to  understand  that 
they  never  could  be  any  more  than  friends ;  and  when  she 
pressed  his  han<l  she  said  :  *'  Remember,  that  as  we  can- 
not be  anything  else,  we  must  always— yes,  always  be  the 
very  best  of  friends." 

For  some  weeks  rumor  had  been  busy  on  the  Heath 
regarding  a  certain  happy  event  which  was  likely  to  take 
place ;  and  there  was  but  one  opinion  as  to  its  beneficial 
result.  John  Valiant  was  beloved  by  the  people  whom  he 
had  benefited— in  that  lay  his  great  power— and  his 
kindness  and  benevolence  were  household  themes;  and 
no  matter  whom  he  might  choose  for  a  wife,  they  all  felt 
confident  thrt  she  must  posess  some  inherent  virtue  to 
win  his  regard ;  and  that  consequently  she  would  aid  the 
good  work  which  he  had  commenced. 

From  her  childhood  Esther  Meade  had  endeared  her- 
self to  almost  every  one,  not  only  in  her  own  parish,  but 
to  nearly  every  one  on  the  Heath.  She  and  her  father, 
and  her  brother,  could  have  gone  to  that  place  at  all 
times  with  perfect  immunity,  even  wlicn  it  would  not  be 
safe  for  others  to  trespass  beyond  the  boundaries  of  the 


ill    !^i 


'  !| 


464 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


m:- 


''ii*t 


It 


parishes.  She  used  to  visit  the  ha  d  workhouse  and 
distribute  many  little  comforts  to  its  j^ioor  inmates;  and 
she  was  a  regular  visitant  at  the  gypsy  camp,  and  delight- 
ed to  take  little  presents  to  gypsy  children ;  and  when 
she  was  a  child  herself,  she  was  one  of  Zingari's  most 
particular  favorites.  Her  kindness  to  all  was  unbounded ; 
and  her  unaffected  modesty  won  the  highest  regard  of 
her  father's  wealthy  parishoners.  No  wonder  then,  tha*-. 
the  rumor  of  John  Valiant's  intended  marriage  to  Esther 
Meade  should  be  well  received,  for  it  augured  much  for 
the  continued  i>rosperity  of  all  on  the  Heath. 

About  the  end  of  April,  John  Valiant  in  company  with 
Ranee  and  the  curate,  went  to  the  Manor  House  to  see  that 
every  thing  was  comi^lete.  In  its  best  day  the  place  never 
looked  more  attractive.  There  were  no  armed  men  to  be 
seen  on  the  battlement;  no  eager  look-out  on  the  watch- 
tower;  no  prowling  enemies  in  the  vicinity.  There  was 
no  wild  trumpet  echo  in  the  distance ;  but  the  caroling 
of  a  thousand  birds  could  be  heard,  as  if  the  forest  trees 
had  become  eloquent  in  praise  of  the  genial  season.  One 
or  two  domestics  could  be  now  and  then  seen  engaged  in 
some  particular  duty,  and  an  old  gardener  with  his  &on, 
was  busy  pruning  trees  and  trimming  bushes;  and  the 
garden  itself  was  a  picture  of  loveliness.  The  profusion  of 
young  flowers,  the  little  mountain  of  rock-work  crowned 
with  some  rare  exotic,  the  neat  graveled  walks  with  box- 
wood borders,  the  sparkling  fountain,  the  clear  running 
stream,  and  the  long  shadows  that  seemed  slumbering  on 
the  green  lawn,  were  surroundings  that  might  have  tempt- 
ed the  happy  owner  of  the  estate  to  fancy  that  this  part  of 
it  was  a  suburb  of  Paradise. 

Having-  spent  an  hour  or  more  in  a  general  survey  of 
the  house  and  the  grounds,  they  went  and  seated  them- 
selves at  the  end  of  the  terrace  from  which  a  fine  view 
of  the  ocean  could  be  had.  Not  a  wave  could  be  seen  on 
the  bright  bosom  of  the  deep,  it  was  heaving  gently,  as  if 
in  calm  repose  succeeding  its  long  and  turbulent  strug- 
gles with  the  wintry  elements;  as  it  now  looked,  one 


ii 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


465 


might  even  fancy  that  it  was  a  thing  of  life.  An  idea  of 
this  Icind  must  have  occured  to  John  Valiant  respecting 
the  placid  sea  on  which  he  was  gazing. 

"I  can  scarcely  wonder,"  he  said,  "that  superstitious 
and  imaginative  men  in  remote  ages  believed  that  the 
ocean  itself  was  a  sort  of  Omnipotence,  now  wearied  and 
slumbering,  and  now  enraged  and  furrowed  with  frowning 
waves,  as  if  prepared  to  sweep  away  the  earth  itself ;  and 
that  they  should  also  have  deified  celestial  orbs,  and  even 
mountains  and  rivers.  Imagination  can  easily  endow 
inert  objects  with  life ;  but  it  may  be  said  that  a  whole 
universe  of  unorganized  matter  can  not  produce  a  single 
idea.  The  great  sun  is  not  conscious  of  its  own  existence. 
Its  vast  magnitude  has  no  germ  of  thought.  It  knows 
nothing  of  the  grand  universe  of  which  it  is  itself  a  part. 
Though  it  may  rush  through  space  with  incredible  swift- 
ness, it  knows  nothing  of  the  laws  of  motion  ;  and  though 
it  may  illuminate  innumerable  planets  and  satellites,  it 
has  no  conception  of  the  amazing  rapidity  with  which  its 
own  light  flashes  from  world  to  world.  But  Mind,  that 
mystery,  which  can  exist  in  an  atom,  and  comprehend  a 
law,  and  account  for  the  motion  of  a  thousand  suns,  can 
that  be  blotted  out,  and  be  Jiregarded  as  the  pure  ema- 
nation of  mere  matter,  which  it  is  alleged  cannot  be 
annihilated?  Bow  difficult  it  is  to  decide  the  priority  of 
matter  or  of  spirit!  Are  they  coeval  ?  Is  spirit  but  refin- 
ed or  greatly  sublimated  matter  ?  Can  mind  itself  be  an 
entity  ?  If  it  be  but  the  mere  emanation  of  matter,  how 
wonderful  that  Mind  should  be  the  controlling  power,  and 
matter  subservient !    Who  can  decide  ?  " 

"These  are  problems,"  replied  the  curate,  "which  I 
often  think  are  beyond  human  comprehension ;  their  dis- 
cussion is  but  based  upon  the  merest  speculation." 

"And  yet,"  resumed  Mr.  Valiant,  "  they  continue  to 
agitate  thought  among  the  learned,  and,  as  theology  is 
but  a  myth  to  thousands  of  the  most  intellectual,  the 
question  of  the  day  seems  to  be  to  many :  '  If  a  man  die 
shall  he  live  again  ? '    If  what  the  Bpiritualists  tell  us  be 


KVJ': 


46R 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


true,  then  death  is  only  the  portal  to  a  new  and  progres- 
sive state  of  existence.  But  we  know  that  we  exist  at 
present,  and  in  any  case  it  is  but  wisdom  to  make  the 
most  of  the  life  we  have,  by  doing  good,  and  endeavoring 
to  establish  truth ;  and  if  there  be  a  future  reward  for  good 
works  all  the  better.  Our  highest  duty  in  this  life  is,  I 
consider,  to  try  and  promote  the  peace  and  happiness  of 
our  fellow  creatures ;  in  doing  this  we  shall  be  almost  cer- 
tain of  a  commensurate  reward  here.  I  am,  however,  con- 
vinced that,  so  far,  religious  teaching  has  been  an 
obstruction  to  true  progress,  and  that  it  has  wretchedly 
failed  to  secure  either  peace  or  contentment  in  this  world 
—the  only  world  that  we  really  know  any  thing  about,  or 
of  which  we  have  any  correct  knowledge." 

The  first  of  May  was  one  of  the  most  charming  days 
that  ever  brightened  the  glorious  scenery  around  Pendell. 
The  blue  sky  was  without  a  single  cloud,  there  was  not 
the  slightest  wind  to  ruffle  the  sea,  nrd  the  white  sails 
that  were  seen  far  out  seemed  like  m*  f  s  igers  that  were 
in  waiting  to  bear  joyful  news  to  every  quarter  of  the 
globe.  There  was,  this  calm  morning,  no  mist  along  the 
coast  line;  only  the  faintest  shadow  could  be  discovered 
on  the  side  of  the  distant  mountain,  and  the  lighthouse 
towered  up  to  its  full  height  from  its  rocky  basis,  as  if 
anxious  to  witness  a  ceremony  whicii  would  probably  bo 
of  more  general  local  interest  than  a  ay  of  the  kind  that 
had  taken  place  in  Pendell  for  over  a  century. 

At  an  early  hour  people  in  their  best  attire,  and  with 
happy  faces,  were  seen  io  assemble  on  the  little  lawn  of 
the  parsonage ;  a  number  of  young  persons  could  be  notic- 
ed passing  gaily  onwards  toward  the  church,  and  then 
there  came  a  long  procession  of  men,  women  and  children 
from  the  Heath,  the  men  bearing  green  boughs  and  the 
women  and  children  carrying  bunches  of  flowers,,  and  all 
seemed  to  be  delighted  with  the  simple  part  they  were 
prepared  to  take  on  <be  occasion  that  had  brought  them 
thus  together.  A  glinii)se  of  the  q/ithering  would  scarcely 
veveal  any  thing  fnore  than  flowers,  smiles  »nd  sunlight. 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


467 


i( 


And  then  the  old  church  itself  seemed  to  have  lost  its 
grey,  grim  appearance ;  it  looked  almost  as  worldly  in  its 
way  as  some  new  fashionable  godly  edifice  specially  erect- 
ed for  the  stylish  congregation  of  some  highly  popular 
preacher.  The  sheen  of  the  sunlight  that  fell  upon  its 
walls  hid  the  numerous  fissures  that  time  had  been  mak- 
ing, and  gave  a  roseate  tinge  to  its  outlines,  and  at  a  short 
distance,  the  hanging  ivy  looked  to  be  a  vast  wreath  of 
glistening  silver  leaves.  The  storm  battered  old  tower 
loomed  up  grandly  in  the  clear  air— proudly  as  it  did  in 
the  past  days  of  its  hooded  monks^wearing  its  shining 
garland,  and  its  festooned  glittering  robe  that  flowed 
down  to  the  ground. 

The  inner  decorations  of  the  edifice,  were  of  the  most 
tasteful  and  suitable  description.  A  large  number  of  the 
])rincipal  inhabitants  of  the  parish,  and  many  distinguish- 
ed persons  from  a  distance,  had  already  taken  possession 
of  such  pews  and  seats  as  could  be  found  vacant.  The 
building  in  every  part  was  filled  by  young  and  old,  eager 
to  witness  so  interesting  a  ceremony,  and  when  the  bell 
rung  at  last,  preparatory  to  the  commencement  of  the 
service,  many  fancied  that  its  tones  had  a  sweet  silvery 
sound  far  more  musical  than  its  usual  intonation  for  the 
ordinary  Sabbath  service ;  as  if  a  juvenile  voice  had  replac- 
ed the  hoarse  accents  of  age. 

V/hile  all  were  in  a  state  of  expectation,  the  curate, 
with  a  happy  expression  of  countenance,  entered  and 
walked  up  the  central  passage  to  the  altar  railing,  his 
boots,  as  if  fate  would  have  it,  creaked  louder  than  ever 
to  his  great  discomfiture— the  bride,  the  bridegroon,  and 
f  h^  bridemaids  followed  ;  they  passed  between  the  people 
of  the  Heath,  who  had  the  privilege  of  standing  in  a  long 
row  on  each  side  of  the  passage,  and  the  green  branches 
which  they  had  were  held  up  so  as  to  form  a  kind  of  ave- 
nue. The  curate  was  to  officiate  alone;  he  needed  no 
assistant,  and  ae  soon  as  the  ceremony  was  over,  and  tho 
organ  gave  its  last  sound,  Zingari,  in  peculiar  attire,  wa. 
Been  to  approach  tho  bride  and  to  place  a  wreath  of  beau- 


ij  ■ 


'I    M 


f 


468 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


M 


tiful  white  roses  over  her  neck,  and  offer  her  congratula- 
tions to  the  happy  couple.  J^  procession  was  then  formed 
and  when  Joh  n  Valiant  and  his  bride  got  outside  the  church, 
a  number  of  children  stood  in  a  circle  around  them 
and  sung  a  few  pretty  verses  composed  by  some  rustic 
in  honor  of  the  newly  wedded. 

Upon  their  return  to  the  Heath  that  evening,  where 
there  was  to  be  great  rejoicing,  they  all  met  in  the  largo 
public  hall  which  was  finely  decorated,  and  John  Valiant 
made  a  short  address  to  those  assembled  and  said : 

"My  good  friends.      It   is  about   two   years  since   I 
first  saw  most  of  you  now  before  me,  and  many  present 
will,  no  doubt,  remember  the   sad  scenes  which  I  wit- 
nessed on  my  arrival,  such  as  I  trust  will  never  be  seen 
here  again.    I  shall  make  no  other  reference  to  the  cir- 
cumstance, but  you  see  how  happily  things  have  changed 
since  that  day.    At  that  time  this  place  was  but  an  unpro- 
ductive desert,  morally,  and  physically,  loathsome  to  the 
eye ;  at  that  time  it  was  not  counted  safe  for  a  stranger  to 
make  his  appearance  among  those  who  were  then  dwellers 
on  the  Heath.    Most  of  you  were  counted  a  lawless,  des- 
perate set  that  would  not  hesitate  to  commit  any  atrocious 
act,  and  that  were  watched  and  despised,  and  almost  for- 
bidden to  go  beyond  the  dreary  bounds  of  the  then  so-called 
'  Devil's  Dale.'    Now,  however,  you  can  go  freely  through 
any  part  of  England ;  and  strangers  come  here,  not  with 
hesitation  or  dread,  but  read'ly  to  witness  the  reformation 
that  has  taken  place  in.  yourselves,  and  to  look  with  sur- 
prise and  admiration  at  the  improvements  which  have 
been  made ;  this  good  has  been  accomplished  steadily  and 
without  ostentation ;  and  the  fact  that  you  are  known  to 
come  from  the  Heath,  will  now  ensure  for  you  the  favor- 
able consideration  of   persons  even  at  a  great  distance 
from  the  once  denounced  locality.    It  has  been  my  good 
fortune  to  have  been  able,  in  some  degree,  to  bring  about 
this  happy  condition  of  affairs.     I  could  not  have  done  so 
without  your  hearty  co-operation ;  and  you  have  kept  your 
promise,  and  have  faithfully  seconded  my  efforts  to  help 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


4G9 


you.  I  have  this  day  takon  an  important  step  to  benefit 
my  own  condition,  I  am  sure  you  all  feel  rejoiced  at  what 
I  have  don '3;  and  I  feel  equally  happy  to  think,  that  she 
who  has  taken  me  'for  bettc>r  or  worse 'will  readily  and 
cheerfully  unite  with  me  and  with  you  in  our  further 
efforts  to  advance  the  prosperity  of  all  upon  this  estate. 
And,  pov/,  that  our  circumstances  have  been  so  happily 
improved,  and  our  future  prospects  so  far  brightened,  let 
us  never  forget  what  wc  owe  to  othoi  who  have  not  yet 
been  so  fortunate.  Thero  are  now  thousands  in  this  land 
solely  depending  for  the  arest  necessaries  of  life  on  the 
benevolence  of  the  humane.  The  noblest  duly  in  which 
man  can  be  engaged  is— not  the  blind  worship  of  a  deity 
—but,  in  making  efforts  to  help  the  suff'^ring,  to  relieve 
the  distressed ;  and,  above  all,  to  lib' rate  the  mind  from 
the  bondage  of  priestcraft,  for  mental  slavery  is  by  far 
the  most  degrading.  If  there  be  a  great  Supreme  Power, 
that  power  must  be  omnipotent,  and  needs  not  the 
pecuniary  means,  or  the  humble  efforts  of  man,  to  bring 
others  to  a  knowledge  of  his  existence,  to  make  the  world 
submissive  to  his  control,  or  to  make  his  glory  more 
transcendent;  and  the  man  who  wishes  to  improve  his 
own  condition  will  fail  to  succeed,  if  while  hoping  or 
praying  for  divine  aid,  or  expecting  the  same,  he  makes  no 
vigorous  effort  to  help  himself." 

Mr.  Valiant  having  si)ent  a  few  hours  very  pleasantly 
among  his  friends  on  the  Heath,  took  his  departure  for 
the  Manor  House.  He  did  not  follow  the  usual  fashion  of 
starting  off  with  his  wife  after  marriage,  and  spend- 
ing a  week  or  a  month  among  strangers ;  he  'eft  for  his 
own  home,  and  was  escorted  most  of  the  way  by  a  number 
of  enthusiastic  people.  It  was  nearly  sunset  when  they 
got  in  full  view  of  the  house,  and  its  windows  were  all 
ablaze  in  the  golden  light,  as  if  purposely  illuminated ; 
the  red  rays  of  eve  were  seen  upon  the  tree  tops,  and  upon 
the  watch  tower ;  and  the  beautiful  day  seemed  to  linger 
as  if  unwilling  to  depart  and  let  its  waning  splendor  be 
lost  in  night.    At  the  end  of  the  wide  avenue  of  old  oaks. 


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470 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


the  carriapfc  in  which  John  Valiant  anrl  his  wife  wore  seat- 
ed halted  for  a  few  minutes,  hi'>  friends  crowded  around 
to  talte  a  kind  leave,  and  when  the  veliicle  drove  on  cheer 
after  cheer  was  given,  and  the  glad  cheers  still  resounded 
until  the  happy  wedded  pair  entered  their  own  dwelling. 

The  next  morning  after  Esther's  marriage  the  curate 
began  for  th  3  first  time  to  realize  the  loss  of  his  daughter, 
and  though  his  son  and  Ranee  ha  1  remained  with  him 
after  Esther's  departure,  now  that  the  pleasing  excite- 
ment was  over,  ho  felt  low  spirited,  and  almost  imagined 
that  he  would  never  see  her  again.  Everything  about  tho 
place  reminded  him  of  her  who  would  make  his  house  her 
home  no  longer.  There  was  the  chair  in  which  year  after 
year  she  had  often  sat  sewing,  or  reading,  or  looking  pen- 
sively out  upon  the  lawn,  or  watching  tho  setting  sun. 
Ah  me!  "What  must  have  been  her  reflections  many  an<l 
many  a  time  while  sitting  there  alone!  What  must  any 
woman's  thoughts  have  been  that  felt  herself,  when  ap- 
proaching the  age  of  thirty,  almost  neglected,  and  in  a 
manner  solely  depending  on  an  aged  father  for  support  or 
protection ;  and  how  sad  and  how  lonely  many  a  sensitive 
dutiful  daughter  must  feel  while  thinking  of  the  future 
under  such  circumstances. 

Poor  souls !  Obliged  to  be  mute,  and  to  seem  content- 
ed, while  hiding  from  all— often  even  from  the  dearest 
friends— their  bursting,  yearning  bosoms  and  almost 
broken  hearts!  Would  that  the  condition  of  unmarried 
women,  in  our  present  state  of  society,  could  receive  more 
just  and  tender  consideration,  for  no  human  being  can 
feel  more  terribly  forlorn  than  she  who  is  not  loved.  Tho 
secret  sorrows  of  women  who  have  never  been  wives,  or 
who  scarcely  expect  to  be  such,  would  furnish  a  woeful 
chapter  in  the  history  of  human  life. 

However,  the  curate  was  really  downcast ;  it  was  strange 
to  him  to  feel  so  desponding  about  her  who  had  so  long 
been  almost  his  only  companion.  Esther  was  away,  she 
had  left  her  old  home,  and  he  might  have  to  leave  it  soon. 
He  still  loved  the  old  place ;  he  would  like  to  remain  in  it 


THE  HEATHENS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


471 


forever,  and  he  would  have  willingly  made  a  great  sacri- 
fice could  Esther  be  restored  to  him  again. 

These  reflections  had  already  brought  tears  to  his  eyes. 
Ranee  quickly  noticed  his  depression,  and  tried  to  cheer 
him.  She  would  have  him  go  out  with  her  and  take  a 
walk,  it  would  have  a  good  effect,  and  a  ramble  for  an 
hour  or  two  would  help  to  cheer  away  his  gloom. 

They  went  out  together,  and  sat  on  an  elevated  spot 
overlooking  the  Bay,  and  Banee  talked  again  about  the 
shipwreck  and  about  her  fortunate  escape.  They  went 
down  to  the  shore  and  she  picked  up  shells  and  curious 
seaweeds ;  they  walked  to  the  old  church,  the  decorations 
were  still  there,  but  they  reminded  him  of  Esther's  mar- 
riage, and  the  silent  organ  recalled  to  his  memory  the 
heavenly  strains  with  which  she  had  often  filled  the  old 
sanctuary.  They  passed  out  and  walked  along  the  grav- 
eled carriage  road  which  ran  across  the  grave  yard, 
before  they  got  to  the  end  of  this,  they  turned  down  a 
little  pathwtiy  to  read  the  inscription  on  one  oT  the  old 
tombs;  they  went  to  another,  and  then  further  on  to 
see  an  ancient  monument  said  to  have  been  erected  in 
memory  of  one  of  the  original  clerical  founders  of  the 
church ;  it  was  in  a  dilapidated  condition,  and  not  a  single 
letter  could  be  discoveied  to  give  the  least  clue  to  the 
name,  the  age,  the  position  or  the  virtues  of  tb«^  departed. 
Time  had  obliterated  his  name  from  the  kxai  oie  and  his 
memory  from  mankind ;  his  virtues  or  his  evil  deeds  were 
totally  forgotten. 

While  looking  at  this  worn  memorial  Ranee  chanced  to 
sec  a  little  shining  substance  in  one  of  the  joints  of  the 
foundation  stones  just  level  with  the  ground;  it  was 
almost  covered  with  a  kind  of  thin  dark  green  moss 
and  imbedded  in  matter,  or  in  a  sort  of  cement,  that  had 
gradually  accumulated  and  hardened  during  a  long  period. 
She  tried  to  pick  it  out  with  her  fingers,  but  had  to  use  a 
small  knife  with  some  force  to  get  it  free.  Presently  she 
succeoded  in  jerking  it  out.  A  broken  ring  I  It  \/as  in  two 
pieces— and  nearly  equal  halves.    She  picked  theiu  up. 


472 


THE  HBATfiiilNS  OF  THE  HEATH. 


The  curate  had  wandered  on  a  short  distance,  and  was 
speaking  to  some  person;  she  immediately  recognized 
Stephen  Gray.  He  was  there  as  usual,  just  as  he  had  been 
every  second  day  of  May  for  the  last  forty  years,  looking 
for  the  rmg  which  Eanee  now  handed  him  in  two  pieces. 

The  curate  was  greatly  surprised  at  the  discovery,  ho 
remembered  at  once  what  Sarah  Afton  had  told  him  con- 
cerning Zingari's  assertion,  that  the  ring  would  be  found 
only  by  a  stranger ;  and  now  that  stranger  proved  to  be 
Ranee. 

Old  Stephen  seized  the  little  pieces,  and  kissed  them 
eagerly ;  he  looked  wistfully  at  the  tiny  treasure  which  he 
had  been  so  long  seeking,  he  s?t  up'^n  a  grave  to  gaze  at 
the  semi-circular  fragments  of  gold,  he  rubbed  them  in 
his  hands  and  tried  to  place  the  parts  together ;  he  was 
quite  satisfied  that  they  once  formed  the  very  ring  he  had 
lost ;  ho  seemed  delighted  at  first,  and  expressed  his  joyful 
thanks  to  Banee.  But  soon  his  countenance  changed,  and 
all  at  once  a  sad,  a  very  sad  expression  marked  his  features. 
What  an  omen !  A  broken  ring  I  Bad,  bad  for  the  finder, 
but  worse,  far  worse  for  the  owner !  Alas,  alas !  poor  old 
man,  his  long,  long,  cherished  hopes  seemed  to  have  been 
utterly  destroyed  in  a  moment  I  and  there  he  sat  stooped 
upon  the  little  mound,  and  wept. 

Eor  a  time  neither  Banee  nor  the  curate  understood  the 
cause  of  poor  Stephen's  emotion;  they  thought  at  first 
that  it  might  have  been  one  of  joy,  but  they  soon  dis- 
covered that  his  heart  was  filled  with  grief,  and  the  tears 
ran  down  his  furrowed  cheeks,  as  i"  the  pent  up  sorrow  of 
years  had  suddenly  burst  forth  and  overflowed,  to  run  on 
lor  ever. 

When  the  cause  had  been  toid  by  Stephen,  through  his 
intermitting  sobs,  to  the  curate  and  Banee,  they  did  their 
best  to  convince  him  that  his  fears  were  groundless,  and 
that  he  should  attach  no  importance  whatever  to  the 
accidental  breaking  of  the  ring ;  but  all  such  reasoning 
was  useless;  poor  Stephen  still  wept  and  sobbed,  and 
sobbed  and  wept,  as  if  his  heart  would  break ;  and  the 


THE   IIFATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


473 


fe; 


curalo,  feeling  greatly  affected  by  the  sorrow  of  his  old 
friend,  tried  to  assure  him  again  that  he  was  very  much 
mistaken  in  his  singular  fancy,  that  Sarah  would  in  all 
probablity  take  a  different  \  iew  of  the  matter,  and  per- 
haps regard  the  circumstance  as  an  omen  of  good. 

But  it  was  of  no  use;  Stephen  only  looked  mournfully 
at  the  "Curved  pieces  in  his  open  hand  and  said : 

"  Poor,  poor  lass !  What  a  sad  story  I  maun  bring  thee 
after  thy  long,  long  waiting!  Poor  lass!  'Tis  no  omen  of 
good  for  thee,  Sarah ;  thoo  wilt  soon  say  that.  Thoo  said'st 
it  maun  coom  soom  time  afore  death,  and  noo  here  it  is 
bent  an'  broke  an'  will  never  gan  aroond  thy  finger.  It 
cam'  just  oot  the  toomb,  an  noo  we  maun  only  divide  it, 
an  each  tak'  the  half  on't  doon  to  the  grave.  Poor  Sarah ! 
we  maun  noo  wait  till  we  get  to  that  t'other  shore!"  The 
old  man's  tears  now  fell  still  faster  as  if  they  would  never, 
never,  cease. 

The  curate  and  Ranee  stood  by  for  some  time  and 
looked  at  Stephen  with  pitying  eyes;  never  had  they  a 
stronger  evidence  of  heartfelt  grief ;  and  as  soon  as  they 
could  prevail  on  the  gentle  old  man  to  leave  the  place; 
they  went  together  and  accompanied  him  to  Sarah  Afton's 
cottage.  As  Stei)hen  had  anticipated,  the  sight  of  the 
broken  ring  was  a  dreadful  omen  to  Sarah ;  she  was  over- 
whelmed with  grief,  and  that  sad  second  day  of  May  was 
the  last  anniversary  they  lived  to  see  of  their  once  expect- 
ed wedding  day. 

Nearly  seven  years  have  passed  away  since  Esther  Meade 
left  her  father's  home  to  become  the  mistress  of  the 
Manor  House.  About  a  year  after  her  marriage  the  curate 
went  away  with  regret  from  the  old  parsonage  atPendell, 
to  reside  permanently  with  his  daughter.  He  has  been  of 
great  service  on  the  Heath ;  and  while  instructing  others, 
he  has  received  new  ideas  himself,  and,  better  than  that, 
he  has  found  sufflcient  courage  and  independence  to  ex- 
press them  openly.  The  greater  part  of  his  time,  however, 
is  spent  at  the  Manor  House.  His  little  grandson  John, 
now  over  five  years  of  age,  and  his  grand-daughter  Esther 


^.  '11 


1 1 


i»    (.i 


474 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


about  two  years  younger,  enj^age  much  of  his  attention; 
and  he  finds  both  pleasure  and  recreation  in  leading  them 
from  one  pleasant  spot  to  another.  The  Heath  itself 
is  vastly  improved,  and  is  now  in  the  most  flourishing 
condition ;  and  its  inhabitants  are  said  to  be  among  the 
most  intelligent,  orderly,  and  industrious  body  of  people 
in  England.  It  is  still  without  a  church,  yet  there  is  not 
a  pauper  on  the  estate ;  and  rarely  indeed  has  any  person 
from  that  place  been  called  upon  to  answer  lor  an  oiience. 
Useful  lectures  are  regularly  delivered  in  the  public  hall, 
especially  on  Sundays ;  and  an  excellent  band  of  trained 
musicians  can  be  often  heard.  The  Sabbath  is  not  the 
sombre  day  it  is  in  most  other  places ;  but  a  quiet  day  for 
rest,  or  recreation,  according  to  individual  desire.  John 
Valiant  is  revered  upon  the  Heath,  and  his  wife  is  honored 
by  all ;  and  many  ardent  Christians,  who  were  once  fanati- 
cal, and  missionary-mad,  are  already  beginning  to  consider 
whether  it  would  not  be  more  prudent,  and  more  profitable, 
to  establish  in  many  parts  of  Great  Britain,  such  missions 
as  the  one  that  has  proved  so  eminently  successful  in 
reclaiming  the  "Devil's  Dale,**  rather  than  have  vast  sums 
sent  out  of  the  country  in  vain  attempts  to  make  the  salva- 
tion of  Laplanders,  Feejees,  or  Hottentots,  more  certain. 
Pendell  is  still  under  strict  ecclesiastical  rule  as  far  as 
priestly  livings  are  concerned,  but  the  established  creed 
has  been  considered  sufficiently  liberal  for  skeptical 
Christians  since  the  Rev.  Mr.  Vanscourt  has  become  the 
rector.  A  fashionable  young  curate— very  sentimental  in 
his  way— reads  a  kind  of  moral  sermon,  fifteen  minutes 
long,  on  Sundays,  and  consequently  gives  almost  general 
satisfaction.  The  old  cljurch  has  been  renovated,  but  the 
organ  does  not  "  draw  "  nearly  so  well  since  other  fingers 
than  Esther's  have  touched  its  keys.  The  old  parsonage 
has  been  pulled  down,  and  another  built  in  more  modern 
style ;  it  has  an  extensive  kitchen  and  a  much  more  com- 
modious dining-room  than  the  old  house  had,  and  to  which 
it  is  said  the  new  bishop  and  many  of  his  clergy  often 
resort  for  mutual  edification. 


THE  HEATHENS  OP  THE  HEATH. 


475 


There  is  a  new  monument  in  the  cemetery  a1  Pendell, 
and  a  weeping  an«el  in  marble  is  seen  pointing,  to  an  in- 
scription which  records  in  golden  letters,  the  i  iety,  the 
charity,  and  the  virtue,  of  the  late  rector,  Mr.  Moiton.  At 
a  distance  there  is  another  grave  close  to  Adrian's,  and 
Zingari  rests  at  last  by  the  side  of  her  beloved.  Sarah 
Afton  has  left  her  little  cottage  forever ;  and  old  Stephen 
Gray  can  no  longer  be  seen  slowly  approaching  it  on  quiet 
evenings,  or  afterward  wandering  in  the  twilight  among 
familiar  graves  and  tombs.  His  home  is  still  within  the 
limits  of  the  consecrated  ground,  and  he  and  Sarah  rest 
beneath  the  same  green  covered  mound ;  they  have  at  last 
been  united  in  death.  One  plain  slab  gives  their  names 
and  their  ages;  and  a  well  worn  pathway  leads  to  their 
silent  retreat.  Strangers  visit  the  spot  and  the  simple 
story  of  Stephen  and  Sarah  has  caused  many  a  tear  to 
bedew  their  grave ;  and  now  annually  on  the  second  day 
of  May  young  men  and  maidens  approach  it  reverently 
and  cover  it  with  early  spring  flowers ;  and  for  years  yet 
to  come  it  will  attract  many  a  sympathizing  heart  to  pon- 
der in  the  old  church  yard  at  Pendell. 


I  i 


.! 


Mi 


I 


If 


APPENDIX. 


»! 


NOTE   I. 

WRETCHED  CONDITION  OF  POOR  CniLDREN. 

Tn  neveral  numbers  of  the  London  Weekly  Dispatch  there  were 
accounts  of  the  terrible  condition  of  very  young  children  who  were 
obliged  to  work  inbrickyards  of  Staffordshire,  Derbyshire,  and  Lei- 
cestershire in  dirt  and  mud,  from  a  very  early  hour  in  the  mornlnpr 
until  night;  and  that  many  of  the  little  creatures  were  covered  with 
sores  and  scabs ;  that  they  had  matted  hair,  and  bleeding  feet ;  and 
that  the  Jabor  was  so  constant,  and  so  very  severe,  that  they  soon 
became  broken  down,  and  had  to  be  sent  to  a  work-house,  where 
their  subsequent  treatment  was  most  inhuman. 

A  report  of  the  '*  Lancet  Sanitary  Commission,"  states,  that  the 
mismanagement  (using  a  mild  term.)  of  the  Marland  Workhouse,  is 
most  culpable.  Medicines  have  been  carelessly  administered  by  pau- 
pers (pauper  nurses).  Forty  children  with  cropped  hair,  sore  heads, 
scabies,  and  reeking  with  sulphur  and  impurity,  have  been  crowded 
into  one  small  apartment,  and  dosed  with  brimstone,  treacle,  and 
ood-liver  oil ;  that  there  were  no  play-grounds,  but  every  thing  cal- 
culated to  make  the  lives  of  the  poor  little  inmates  most  wretched 
and  deplorable. 

NOTE    IL 

A  Londoc  oorreepondent  of  a  leading  Canadian  paper  writes.  De- 
cember, 1873: 

"  As  it  is,  our  papers  have  been  filled  with  more  than  the  usual 
complement  of  cases  of  distress  and  destitution.  The  master  of  a 
London  workhouse  has  been  sent  to  jail  for  refusing  admission  to 
a  wretched  woman  with  several  children,  and  thereby  causing  the 
death  from  cold  of  a  baby  in  arms.  A  relieving  officer  is  now  under- 
going an  enquiry  into  his  conduct  for  refusing  relief  to  another 
wretched,  hard-working  woman,  unless  she  broke  up  her  home  and 
came  into  the  workhouse.  Cases  like  these  make  a  noise:  public 
benevolence  is  roused,  the  sufferers  are  provided  for,  and  then  publio 
Interest  dies  away.  But  to  any  one  who  knows  anything  of  London, 
it  is  heart-breaking  to  think  of  the  cases  which  are  never  hoard  of— 
of  the  thousands  who  starve,  pine,  and  sink  and  make  no  sign." 
And  then,  referring  to  the  increase  of  crime,  says : 
"  Just  at  this  Christmas  time,  too,  we  have  had  a  sudden  increase 
of  violent  crime.  I  should  think  for  many  years  past  there  have  not 
been  so  many  felons  lying  under  sentence  of  death,  as  there  are  now 
in  ov.r  county  jails.  In  the  Winter  circuit  just  concluded,  there  wore 
80  many  capital  sentences  passed  that  there  is  certain  to  be  a  large 
number  of  reprieves.  Yet  each  individual  case  is  well  nigh  as  bad 
as  it  could  be.  There  is  a  sort  of  grim  irony  in  the  fact  that  just  at 
this  period  the  Church  of  England  should  have  held  a '  day  of  inter- 


i  II 


f 


178 


APPENDIX. 


cession 'for  help  lo  mlHHi(»nary  ontoiprisr'.  Yost  rday  throiicrhnut 
the  Unitod  Kingdom  spooial  services  wore  hold  In  our  ohurohoa,  and 
prayers  were  offered  up  for  God's  grace  to  inspire  our  people  to  givo 
more  liboraily  to  foreign  missions  for  the  convorsion  of  the  hnath'Mi 
to  the  doctrines  of  the  Angelican  Church.  Surely  there  is  work 
enough  to  be  done  in  oonverting  our  own  heathen  at  home  before  wo 
look  abroad." 

Besides,  the  Church  of  England  claimants  '  for  help  to  missionary 
enterprise,'  there  are  several  other  denominations  more  determined 
and  more  fanatical,  who  would  not  hesitate  to  take  the  mite  from  a 
hungry  widow  for  Uie  conversion  of  the  heathen.  What  madness  !— 
Author. 

NOTE    III.  ^ 

rURRINa  AND  BRUTALITY  IN  LANCASHIRE. 

A  correspondent  writes  to  the  Liverpool  Courier :—"  Many  of  our 
readers  probably  do  not  understand  the  meaning  of  the  word  '  purr.' 
It  does  not  mean  the  pleasant  sound  of  poor  pussy,  as  she  nesllos  up 
to  be  stroked.  No ;  it  means  th3  dextrous  use  of  the  foot,  armed 
either  with  hob-nailed  shoes  or  clogs ;  and  this  not  for  the  purpose 
of  walking  quickly,  nor  walking  a  distance,  but  for  the  doliburate, 
scientific  purpose  of  punching  or  kicking  a  man's  eyes  out,  or  caus- 
ing his  brains  to  protrude  through  the  skull,  or  breaking  his  neck. 
As  a  rule,  the  men  strip  naked  to  the  waist;  they  then  face  each 
other— sound  in  skin  and  bones— they  try  to  get  a  grip  of  each  other, 
as  though  wrestling,  and  twist  their  legs  together  so  that  one  may 
fall ;  and  should  the  top  man  be  at  liberty,  backers  then  yell  out, '  Na, 
thaheshim;  go  into  him;  purr  his  yed;  good  lad;  that's  warming 
him ;  purr  him  i'  th'  guts ;  oh,  lads,  but  he's  a  good  un.'  Should  tlio 
under  man  try  to  raise  himself,  then  there  bursts  forth  another  yell, 

*  Na ow'd lad,  wha'll  tha hes  hem  da'an  jump  on  him;  kill  th' —.' 

But  should  they  fall  together,  and  stick  to  each  other,  the  chances  are 
that  one  or  the  other  will  use  his  teeth  and  bite  the  other.  And  this 
is  not  the  result  of  passion  or  momentary  anger,  but  coolly  and  de- 
liberately understood,  or,  as  it  is  called, '  made.'  Very  often  women 
and  children  are  eye  witnesses,  and  thus  the  children  are  taught 
from  infancy  how  to  use  their  feet;  not  to  walk,  or  to  run,  for  health's 
sake,  but  to  maim  each  other,  to  deform  themselves,  to  utterly  dis- 
figure the  image  of  humanity— that  which  should  bo  an  index  to  lovo 
and  kindness— and  to  such  perfection  do  the  childron  learn  the  *  sci- 
ence,'that  utterly  regardless  of  the  Fifth  Commandment,  they  will 
exhibit  the'.r  skill  on  the  shins  of  thoir  mothers  if  they  are  not 
allowed  to  fkCt  precisely  as  they  like.  The  foregoing  is  what  may  b(» 
termed  the  practical  part  of  the  '  science.'  Not  very  long  ago,  in 
open  day,  in  the  borough  in  which  I  live,  two  men  '  purred '  oa<'h 
other ;  one,  with  a  scientific  cut  with  his  foot,  kicked  the  other's  oyo 
out,  and  it  lay  on  his  cheek.  It  it  needless  to  go  on  giving  examph.'s. 
for  your  columns  aro  oontinually  telling  of  these  brutal  exhibitions. 
Yet  I  cannot  resist  mentioning  a  circumstance  which  occurred  in  u 
field,  some  years  ago,  near  my  rosidonce.  Some  friends  had  been  to 
a  funeral,  andi  after  oommittini;-  their  relative  to  the  grave,  wore 
returning  home  the  worse  for  drink,  and  got  to  words.  Hearing  a 
noise.  I  went  out  to  aee  what  was  the  matter,  and  there  were  these 


(f  « 


APPENDIX. 


470 


fri-^nds  Rtandlntf  round,  not  the  ffra-e  of  thoir  dtv^oasod  frl<m'!.  but 
round  two  of  their  living  oompanions.  who  w^to  *  purrincr'  into  eanh 
othor'ti  oareassos,  the  sound  of  which  roaomblml  tho  knockiui^  in  au 
empty  barrel  end.  It  was  weeks  before  I  got  rid  of  the  '  auoor '  geu- 
eatlon  I  felt  that  night." 

NOTE  IV. 
The  Rev.  Dr.  Dufif's  ttistimony  rosptM-ting  the  want  of  success 
among  Christian  missionaries  in  India  was  given  by  him  at  a  moot- 
ing of  the  Froo  Church  Assembly  in  Edinnurgh.  in  1869.  Ho  said: 
"If  you  were  to  ask  me  one  of  the  chieffst  caus<!8  of  the  slow  progress 
of  genuine  Evangelical  Christianity  in  India,  and  other  heathen 
lands  whore  the  matter  has  con';>  athwart  m»>,  I  would  have  no  hesi- 
tation whatever  In  proclaiming  (and  I  wish  I  had  a  throat  of  brass 
and  a  tongue  like  a  trumpet  to  proclaim  it  through  every  corner  of 
the  British  Empire.)  that  one  of  tho  cliiefcst  causes  is  to  be  found  in 
the  miserable  distractions  and  divisions  of  the  Christian  Church  in 
this  land.  The  Duke  of  Somerset  relates  the  manner  in  which  a 
Chinese  Mandarin  was  puzzled  by  having  two  kinds  of  Christiauity 
presented  to  him.  Papist  and  Protestant,  In  India  we  have  the  rep- 
resentatives of  some  twtntty-five  different  missionary  societies  differ- 
ing more  or  less  in  policy,  organization  or  discipline,  and  par- 
tially in  doctrine.  You  cannot  go  any  where  in  India  without  having 
this  at  once  cast  up.  They  ask, '  To  which  Church  do  you  belong  ? ' 
and  when  you  tell  them,  they  may  add,  'Ohl  there  are  so  many  so- 
called  Christian  bodies  beside  you.  How  are  we  to  understand  which 
of  you  are  right?  Go  and  settle  your  differences  among  yourselves 
and  then  come  to  us.*  " 

Notwithstanding  this  disunion  still  continues,  the  Mohammedans 
are  far  more  successful  with  the  natives  than  Christian  missionaries 
have  been,  and  nothing  that  St.  Paul  or  Dr.  Duff  could  say  would  rec- 
oncile the  Kirk  and  the  Free  Church,  or  overcome  the  fierce  hostility 
of  other  sects. 

A  missionary  in  conversation  with  a  correspondent  of  the  London 
Times  stated  that  with  regard  to  the  conversion  of  the  Bongalese:  "It 
is  all  dark ;  the  old  saying  is  true,  when  a  man  has  been  Ave  years  in 
India  he  thinks  he  comprehends  them;  when  he  has  been  ten, he 
begins  to  doubt  that  he  does  so ;  when  he  has  been  twenty,  he  is 
quite  certain  he  does  not  comprehend  them  at  all."  And  yet  Bengal 
is  permeated  with  English  thought  and  English  litciiiture.  Many  of 
the  educated  natives  think  in  English,  not  in  their  native  tongue. 
But  they  are  not  becoming  Christian.  The  missionary  conference 
ought  to  throw  light  on  many  subjects,  aud  will  do  so,  ii  the  speakers 
will  tryto  forget  the  London  committees  and  the  May  meetings. 
There  are  some  missionaries  in  India  who  are  strengthening  British 
rule  and  good  government:  there  are  some  who  are  doing  the  re- 
verse. 

NOTE   V. 

A  FIGHTING  PARSON. 

At  the  Petty  Sessions  held  at  Brackley,  Northamptonshire,  recently, 
before  Messrs.  R.  A.  Oartwright,  J.  L.  Stratton.  and  Sir  W.  R.  Brown, 
the  Rev.  B.  Bobson.  curate  of  Chacombe,  and  Henry  Chinner,  laborer, 
were  charged  with  oommittlng  a  breach  ol  the  leace  at  Chacombe, 


i        ! 


i8U 


APPENDIX. 


on  Sunday,  September  22.  The  Rev.  B.  Robson  denied  the  offence 
Ohinner  said  ho  only  stood  in  hl>*  own  defense.  William  Herltafire.  a 
laborer  livinu  ut  Chucombe.said  on  Hupt.  22d  the  Rev.  fi.  Robson  came 
out  of  the  cliurch  through  the  churchyard  into  the  highway.  Whou 
he  had  got  a  r  "v  yards  before  the  people  he  turned  around  and  went 
up  toChinuer  w  >iihis  arm  up,  and  asked  him  if  his  name  was  Chin- 
ner.  Robsoud  tubled  his  lists  and  stopped  Chinnor.  They  went  down 
the  road  toguthor  a  short  distance,  and  then  Robson  took  off  his  hat 
and  coat  and  swore  he  would  light  Chlnnor.  The  latter  pulled  off  his 
coat  but  said  he  did  not  mean  lighting.  Robson  struck  Ohinner  twice 
before  Ohinner  struck  him  at  all,  and  then  they  had  a  regular  round. 
There  were  several  people  present  at  the  time.  They  had  one 
round,  and  then  Ohinner  knocked  Robson  nearly  down.  Robson 
picked  up  some  stones,  but  Ohiunur  looked  threateningly  at  him,  and 
Robson  went  up  to  him  and  said:  "Lot's  shake  hands  and  then 
settle  it;  you  have  got  me  into  trouble  enough."  John  Adkius,  also 
living  at  Ohacombe,  said  he  saw  both  defendants  strip  to  flght.  and 
also  saw  them  fight  Mr.  Robson  declined  to  say  anything  in  de- 
fense. 

Ohinner  said  he  was  going  to  church,  but  when  he  got  to  the  gates 
he  mot  the  people  coming  out,  and  they  told  him  there  would  be  no 
service.  Robson  came  through  the  people,  and  when  he  had  gone 
some  distance  turned  to  him  and  said:  "  Oome  up  in  the  field."  He 
(Ohinner)  replied,  "No  that  won't  do;  it  is  Sunday."  Robson  said. 
"  It  is  all  the  better  for  that,"  and  took  off  his  hat  and  coat  and  struck 
him.  He  (Ohinner)  only  struck  Robson  in  his  own  defense.  The 
Ohairman,  addressing  Mr.  Robson.  said  they  were  pained  to  see  him 
in  his  present  position.  It  was  a  scandal  to  the  Ohurch.and  they 
hoped  that  the  ecclesiastical  law  would  have  prevented  the  case 
coming  before  them.  If  Ohinner  had  not  struck  Mr.  Robson  in  his 
own  defense,  he  (Mr.  Robson)  could  have  been  summoned  for  an 
assault,  and  might  have  been  sent  to  jail  for  two  months  without  the 
option  of  a  fine.  They  (the  magistrates)  treated  him  as  an  ordinary 
defendant,  and  should  bind  him  over  to  keep  the  peace  for  six 
months  in  £20,  and  Ohinner  in  £10.  The  defendants  must  also  pay 
the  costs  36s.  The  Ohairman  added  that  he  hoped  the  vicar  would 
take  notice  of  the  case,  and  save  the  Ohurch  from  public  scandal.— 
English  Paper.    1872. 

NOTE  VI. 

It  cannot  be  doubted  that  there  are  many  clergymen  in  the  State 
Ohurch  who  may  be  classed  as  skeptical  as  Mr.  Vanscourt;  it  is  very 
probable  that  there  aresomesuch  in  almost  every  denomination  who, 
like  Oolenso,  Voysey,  and  others,  still  remain  and  preach,  although 
disbelieving  in  the  *'  Divine  revelations  "  of  Ohristianity.  There  are 
others,  however,  who  leave  the  clerical  ranks  as  quickly  as  they  dis- 
cover that  they  have  been  in  error.  Many  years  ago  the  Rev.  Robert 
Taylor,  A.  B.,  curate  of  Midhurst,  England,  became  an  unbeliever 
and  wrote  the  "  Syntagma,"  the  "  Mfgesia"  and  many  other  power- 
ful works  against  Ohristianity ;  later  still  we  have  Oolenso's  writings, 
the  Essays  and  Reviews,  and  other  publications  reflecting  on  the 
popular  faith ;  and  when  persons  so  eminent  as  the  Rev.  Mr.  Olark 
leave  the  Ohristian  Ohurch, it  is  likely  that  we  may  have  further 
reasons  given  for  the  prevailing  unbelief  among  so  many  of  the 


ATPKNDIX. 


4M 


loflj-noil  nn<l  iritolifl'tual ;  ho  has  nyitlnntly  matlfs  no  sliulit  ■•aTiflw 
out  of  conscientious  rojfard  for  what  ho  oonsklerod  truth. 

The  Rkv.  ]\rn.  W.  O.  ('lake's  RFNUNriATioN  ok  Holy  Uudeiir- 
Thu  ronnnclatlon  of  holy  orders  by  Mr.  W.  G.  Chirk,  Vl<'.>-MuHtor  «.f 
Trinity  Oollcuo.  and  lato  Pu))li«  Orator  at  Canibri«lff(».  a  man  of  high 
r«fputation  In  lUrratnrc,  is  folt  to  ho  a  vory  serious  mattor  hy  all 
Hassos  of  Churchmen.  Ho  has  long  been  known  to  entertain  sorti« 
opinions  in  connnon  witli  Bishop  (\>1liiso  and  the  school  roprp- 
sentod  by  tho  writers  of  "  Essays  and  Reviews."  Ho  does  not  bo!iov« 
In  tho  Infallibility  of  the  Soriptiros,  rojettinK  parts  of  them  as  of 
doubtful  authontieity,  and  tlndint?  in  others  quostionable  teaohinK  in 
tlieolotfy  and  morals.  At  his  ordination  ho  was  asked  whether  ho 
unfoiKnodly  bollovcd  all  tho  Canonical  Seriptures  of  the  Old  and  New 
Testament,  and  he  answered.  Yos.  But  ho  no  longer  believ(!S  them, 
and  moreover  ho  onnnot  stand  up  In  tho  face  of  tho  eouKroKation  to 
say,  "  •  God  spako  these  words.'  when  *'  ho  is  convinced  He  did  not 
speak  them."  Certain  newspapers  are  trying  to  convince  Mr.  Clark 
that  ho  has  dono  vory  foolishly,  because  the  courts  have  decided  to 
Interpret  the  Articles  with  a  good  deal  of  latitude.  In  this  and  other 
matters  we  are  told  that  tho  legal  must  be  the  measure  of^tho  moral 
f'bligatlon.  This  is  affirmed  to  be  the  understanding  with  which  the 
Thirty-nine  Articles  ace  always  signed  now  at  the  Universities. 
Think  of  what  this  moans.  Tho  young  clergy— the  future  teachers  of 
religion  and  morality— are  being  brought  up  to  proclaim  by  their 
example,  if  not  by  their  lips,  that  everything  is  lawful  for  which  a 
man  cannot  be  put  in  prison  and  convicted  at  the  bar  of  a  criminal 
court!  Behold,  fhen,  the  millennium  of  dextrous  swindlers  and 
clever  cheats  I  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  consciences  of  many  another 
Broad  Churchman  will  be  pricked  by  the  serious  declarations  of 
Mr.  Clark  into  following  his  example.  While  they  are  known  to 
equivocato,  t-'unday  by  Sunday  at  the  altar,  they  ar.j  the  most  serious 
offenders  against  honesty  in  the  nation,  and  doing  most  to  sap  the 
foundations  of  all  vQUgion.— English  Indepenilent. 

With  referenco  to  skeptical  clergymen.  Bishop  Colenso  says:  "  I 
assert,  however,  without  fear  of  contradiction,  that  there  are  multi- 
tudes now  of  the  more  intoUigent  clergy,  who  do  not  believe  in  the 
Noachian  deluge  as  described  in  the  book  of  Genesis.  Yet  did  ever  a 
laymen  hear  his  clergyman  speak  out  distinctly  what  he  thought, 
and  say  plainly  from  the  pulpit  what  he  believed,  on  this  point  ?  Did 
ever  n  doctor  or  a  bishop  of  the  Church  do  this— at  least  in  the  pres- 
ent day  ?  I  doubt  not  that  some  eases  may  be  found  where  such 
plainness  of  speech  has  been  exercised.  But  I  appeal  to  the  laity 
generally  with  confidence.  Have  you  ever  heard  your  minister— able, 
earnest,  excellent  as  you  know  hlra  to  be— speak  out  plainly  to  the  peo- 
ple what  he  knew  himself  about  these  things  ?  Or,  if  not  to  the  con- 
gregation at  large— for  fear  the  ignorant  and  unlearned  should  wres', 
it  to  their  own  destruction— has  he  ever  told  these  things  to  you  in 
private  ?  .  .  .  Have  not  the  clergy  kept  back  from  you  their 
thoughts  hitherto,  not  only  about  the  deluge,  but  about  a  multitude 
of  other  matters,  such  as  those  treated  of  in  Part  I  of  this  book— 
"Which,  as  my  adverse  reviewers  say  almost  with  one  voice,  have  been 
all  along  perfectly  familiar  to  all  respectable  students  of  divinity." 
(I'^'cfacepp.  28.  29.) 


482 


AITF.NPFX. 


How.  in  fnot.  can  it  bo  possiblo  a  olorirynian  should  venture  to 
tliink  on  thoso  subjects,  wlien  by  sd  doing,  ho  is  almost  sure  to  come 
to  doubt  or  disbelieve  some  portion,  at  least,  as  we  have  seen  above, 
of  tho  Church's  doctrine,  and  then  ho  may  ffiel  bound  to  follow  his 
own  sense  of  duty,  if  it  accords  with  thosnntimonts  expressed  by  the 
Bishop  of  London,  and  abandon  voluntarily  tho  ministry  of  the 
Clnireh,  deprived  of  all  share  in  itsdutios  and  emoluments,  yet  bur- 
dened still  with  the  necessity,  aecordinj?  to  the  present  state  of  tho 
?aw,  and  dragging  about  him  for  his  whole  life-long  his  clerical 
title  f>-d  its  legal  disqualification  for  engaging  in  any  other  duties  of 
activ'.    ife."    (K  20.) 

"  Should,  however,  his  views  of  duty  not  compel  him  to  make  this 
sacrifice,  still  how  can  a  clorgymnn  be  expected  to  indulge  in  frc 
thought  on  some  of  the  most  interesting  and  important  Questions  of 
]>liysica],  historica".  and  critical  science,  when  he  knows  that,  for 
firriving  at  any  conclusion  on  certain  points  of  Biblical  criticism 
which  contradict  the  notions  of  our  forefathers,  living  in  days  of 
comparative  darkness  and  ignorance  of  all  sci/entiflc  research, he 
may  be  dragged  into  the  Court  of  Arches,  and  thero  by  legality  be 
forcibly  ejected,  or  if  not  ejected,  at  least  suspended  from  his  living, 
and  saddled  for  life  with  a  crushing  weight  of  debt,  at  the  instance  it 
may  be  of  some  good,  easy  brother,  who  never  perhaps  knew  what  it 
was  to  have  a  passionate  y(\nrning  for  truth,  who  never  made  a 
sacrifice  for  truth,  as  truth,  who  n(  ver  made  a  sacrifice  in  the  search, 
or  for  the  maintenance  of  it,  and  never  in  fact  gave  himself  an  hoiir's 
hard  thinkinj?  in  all  his  life.  What  clergyman,  I  repeat,  tv'ith  a  wife 
and  children  to  support,  can  afford  to  give  himself  to  the  simple 
straight  lorward  search  after  truth— much  less  to  the  honest  utter- 
ance of  it— at  the  cost  of  .^Dono."    ( Ihid.  p.  an.) 

NOTE    VII. 

THE     CUKE     OF     SOULS     BY     PURCHASE. 

{From  an  Inve:^tigaHng  Contributor  for  the  London  Daily  Xfws.) 

1  aave  learnt  more  as  to  the  current  value  of  advowsons  and  pres- 
entations in  the  last  hour  than  I  am  likely  to  forget ;  and  am  at  this 
moment  sorely  puzzled  between  the  a'3  vantages  proffered  me  by  these 
two  forms  of  investment.  It's  my  way  when  I  want  information,  to 
go  straight  to  the  fountain  hea'l,  so  directly  I'd  sanctione-'  y 
youngest  daughter's  engagement  with  Meokskip,  our  curate,  .,nst 
put  myself  in  the  train  and  came  up  to  London  to  consult  a  clerical 
agent  as  to  the  best  thing  to  b(!  done.  My  objections  to  the  match  are 
beside  the  question,  so  I'd  pass  tliem  by;  though  why  on  earth  a 
sensible  girl  with  a  comfortable  home  should  puke  and  pine  because 
she  was  forbidden  to  think  of  a  man  who  was  no  more  able  to  keep 
her  in  the  way  she  had  been  brought  up  than  I  am  to  feed  my  pigs  on 
pineapple  cream,  is  beyond  mo  allogetlier.  How  'ver,  it's  done,  and 
there's  nothing  left  but  to  make  the  best  of  it,  Meekskip  hasn't  a 
penny ,  of  course.  His  father  was  a  parson  before  him,  his  widowed 
mother  has  three  unmarried  daughters  and  this  son,  (wid  the  lad 
r-ould  never  have  been  sent  to  college  if  he  hadn't  been  clever  and 
plucky,  and  so  won  an  Exhibition.  My  v^aughter  hrs  £l,500  in  her 
own  right ;  and  when  I  consulted  my  Uwyer,  old  Biber— a  good  man 


APPENDIX. 


483 


biitt.f  the  old  school,  and  with  u  conveyancing  practice  chiefly- 
all  he  could  advise  was  that  I  should  have  all  Madge's  money  tied  up 
as  tightly  as  possible,  ordering  it  to  be  out  into  the  funds,  and  pre- 
venting the  trustees,  so  far  as  I  was  aV>lo,  changing  the  form  of 
investment  for  Indian  railways  or  other  specious  ways  of  getting 
five  per  cent.  This  would  have  given  the  you  ig  couple  about  £6't 
a  year,  or  less;  or  with  the  other  i^l,500,  which  I  shall  in  this  case 
find  for  my  daughter  on  her  wedding  day,  some  £t20  a  year.  It  was 
to  sec  if  something  better  couldn't  be  done  with  the  money  in  church 
property,  aud  I  have  been  talking  to  the  clerical  agent  this  morning. 
I  found  him  as  pleasant  and  business-like  a  little  gentleman  as  one 
could  wish  to  meet.  The  first-floor  of  a  London  house,  the  ground- 
floor  of  which  is  occupied  by  a  shop— this  is  where  I  found  my  agent. 
A  deaf  clergyman  in  what  used  to  bo  called  a  Puseyite-waistcoat,  a 
white  tie,  and  coat  and  trousers  of  appiopriate  color  and  cut,  can- 
nons against  me  as  I  reaeh  the  door.  "  I  want  to  see  Mr.  Blank."  (the 
agent.)  He  remarks  to  mo  interrogatively  and  apologetically, though 
not  hearing  well  he  had  turned  round  and  trodden  on  ray  toes.  He 
put  his  hand  to  his  ear  to  catch  my  reply,  so  I  shouted,  '*  The  very 
thing  I've  come  here  myself  to  do!"  Avheroupon  a  door  opened,  and 
we  were  both  invited  to  enter.  Not  into  the  presence  of  the  agent, 
but  into  a  counting-house,  in  Avhich  several  clerks  were  busy  upon 
ledgers  and  journals :  and  where  printed  bills  of  the  livings  on  sale 
hung  from  the  walls,  exactly  as  other  bills  hang  at  the  Auction  Mart 
or  Garraway's.  The  chamber  is  divided  by  a  -wooden  partition, 
behind  which  the  clerks  are  busy,  a.r,  I  have  said,  while  the  remainder 
is  used  as  a  waiting-room.  We  both  send  in  our  names  to  the  agent, 
who  is  in  an  adjoining  room,  the  clergyman,  with  great  skill,  handing 
in  his  name  before  mine  to  insure  a  priority,  though  we  really  came 
in  together ;  after  which  we  take  our  seats  and  look  about  us.  "Cur- 
acy Department  "  is  printed  in  large  black  letters  on  one  side  of  the 
wooden  division,  then  comes  a  door  marked  "  Private,"  and  then  the 
words,  "  Exchange  Department.'  The  agent'^^  engagement  does  not 
last  long,  and  while  the  deaf  clergyman  is  with  him  I  ask  for  a 
printed  list  of  'be  livings  which  are  in  the  market  now.  A  pamphlet 
consisting  of  nirty-five  clo.sely-printed  pages  is  handed  me,  and  I 
proceed  to  eon  this  over.  The  study  becomes  s'^  fascinating  that 
I  fervently  h')pe  the  deaf  clergyman  may  have  difficulty  in  persuading 
the  agent  he  is  not  disqualifled  by  hi-  infirmity  for  the  cure  of  souls. 
and  that  his  interview  may  be  prolonged.  "Population  only  one 
hundred,  neighborhood  noted  for  its  extreme  salubrity,  income 
about  £120  a  year,  price  of  presentation  £5on."  This  is  an  epitome  of 
the  firs'  entry  in  my  pamphlet:  nut  there  is  no  rectory-horse,  and 
the  whole  thing  doesn't  seem  quite  gv)d  enough  for  the  man  who  is 
to  marry  my  daughter.  I  llx  upon  f:j,Oon  as  my  limit,  so  that  the 
next  is  far  beyond  me,  being  6,ono  guineas,  and  yielding  a  n^t  income. 
"chiefly  from  glebe,"  of  £650  a  year.  But  it  would  weary  you  if  I 
were  to  go  through  the  advertisements  one  by  one.  or  to  attempt  to 
describe  the  anxious  care  with  which  for  Madge's  sake.  I  compared 
one  with  another.  I  had  to  balance  snr-h  things  as  "Population 
3000,  coach-house,  stable,  harness-room,  loose-box.  large  walled 
garden,  conservatory,  and  a  good  supply  of  water.'"  against  such 
tempting  exrlanatory  foot-notes  at.  "  this  preferment  was  purchased 


1S4 


APPENDIX. 


is 


by  one  ottheCoIloKes  for  a  Follow  soino  eight  years  Binne.and  now  it 
is  being  soUl  at  the  Ha  mo  price,  allowing,'  simply  for  the  expense,  of 
conveyance,  as  was  given  for  it  at  that  time,  when  the  incumbent  (now 
78)  was  only  seventy  years  old."  "  Nopoor"wasar(Horamendation  in 
one  case  *,  "  single  duty  "  'D  several.  "  Immediate  possession,"  and 
"there  is  every  prospect  ot  immediate  possession,  incumbent  being 
seventy-one  years  of  age  and  very  infirm,'"  were  added  as  riders  in 
others.  "  The  incumbent  is  fifty-two  or  llfty-thrco  years  of  ago,  but 
his  life  is  a  bad  one,  was  a  statement  which  gave  the  rectory-house 
"  not  in  good  repair''  gloomy  associations,  and  made  mo  tuii  with 
a  sigh  of  relief  to  the  next  page,  where  "  the  neighborhood  offers 
very  good  society,  with  plenty  of  llshing,  hunting,"  etc.,  combined  with 
the  assurance  of  "no  chapel,"  seemed  much  more  eligible— though 
for  that  matter  Meekskip,  poor  fellow,  is  no  sportsman,  and  would,  I 
fancy,  rather  like  a  chapel  to  convert. 

I  had  read  thus  far,  Avhen  the  door  opeiu-d  and  a  head  popped  in. 
"Has  a  deaf  clergyman  come  here?"  its  owner  asked.  "Yes." 
answered  a  clerk,  laconically.  "  Is  ho  with  Mr.  Blank  ?"  "  Yes."' 
"All  right;  only  wanted  to  know,"  and  the  head  disappeared— as  I 
thought  chuckling  at  the  prospect  of  commission.  A  lanky  young 
man.  in  a  straw  hat,  shooting  jacket,  and  patent  leather  shoes— a 
young  man  who  looked  far  more  like  boating  than  preaching- 
sauntered  in  leisurely  and  asked  for  the  agent.  He  was  engaged, 
and  this  gentleman  (myself)  was  waiting:  was  it  anything  the  clerk 
could  attend  to  ?  It  was  about  a  curacy ;  London,  and  a  good  part  uf 
London  essential.  The  vacancy  at  Chelsea  required  explanation. 
"What  sort  of  people  lived  in  Chelsea;  was  Chelsea  pu-^t  of  Bel- 
gravia;  were  the  dwellers  in  it  of  the  upper  classes?"  It  was  the 
clerk's,  opinion  that  Chelsea  was  the  favorite  district  for  what  he 
would  term  the  middle  upper  class  of  church-goers,  which  ha 
specified,  to  prevent,  the  possibility  of  mist-ake,  as  "professionals, 
artisans,  tradesmen,  and  that  class.'" 

I  was  beckoned  for  at  this  juncture;  the  deaf  clergyman  had  de- 
parted by  another  door,  and  I  found  myself  face  to  fa  e  with  a 
clerical  agent.  My  first  feeling  was  one  of  gratitude  to  him  tor  not 
having  made  myself  up  like  a  clergyman ;  and  for  being  so  straigiit- 
forward  and  business-like.  A  brisk,  fair  gentleman,  with  a  prepos- 
sessing manner— that's  what  fhe  agent  ia  He  is  well  dressed  and 
well-jewelled,  and  carries  a  single-stone  diamond  und  a  full  sized 
blood-stone  signet  ring  on  the  same  hand.  My  first  thought  is  that 
I  once  met  a  sweil  stock-broker  very  like  him;  my  second  that  he 
belongs  to  the  race  which  Mr.  Disraeli  maintains  furnish  the  master- 
spirits of  the  world.  "  Not  being  a  parson,"  I  begin  with  a  smile/ 
"I'll  explain  my  business  in  two  minutes  "—which  I  do.  I  learn 
directly  what  £30uO  will  buy.  If  I  want  the  money  to  be  settled  on  my 
girl  I  can  have  an  advovvson  of  £'230  a  year  for  Meekskip.  with  a 
house,  only  I  mustn't  ask  for  any  of  the  home  counties— Kent  or 
Essex,  for  example— they're  more,  naturally.  If,  on  the  other  hand. 
I'll  be  satisfied  with  buying  a  presentation,  or,  in  other  words,  a 
living  for  Meekskip.  which  will  terminate  wi*h  his  life,  why  lean  got 
£400  a  year.  This  is  the  outside  value,  the  agent  warns  me,  and  the 
income  will  be  rather  less  than  more,  but  I  need  not  trouble  myself 
about  the  young  people  havinif  to  wait  in  either  case  if  I  once  resolve 


Hi' 


1'?  '  i 


APPKNDIX. 


-18." 


upon  Ihe  invostinont.  "  Tlio  gvmt  object  of  the  owners  of  ohiuvjh 
property."  my  friend  adds  pleasantly,  "is  to  get  an  nuidi  for  it  as 
possible,  and  you'll  llnd  tliat  after  you've  deducted  i-ioo  or  £-110  a  year 
for  your  friend's  services  you'll  have  in  addition  to  a  residenee. 
about  Ave  per  cent,  for  your  money  :f  you  buy  an  advowson.  and 
from  seven  to  ei^ht  per  cent,  if  you  buy  a  presentation.  An  advow- 
son is  freehold,  and  can  be  settled  on  the  lady  and  the  offspring  of  the 
marriage— that  is.  can  be  invested  in  the  names  of  trustees  and 
be  sold  for  their  benellt  on  Mr.  Meokskip's  death,  A  presentation 
will  give  you  a  better  rate  of  interest,  even  after  you've  deducted 
a  reasonable  sum  for  the  clergyman's  annual  premiums  for  life 
assurance;  but  then,  you  see,  you  can't  compel  him  to  keep  his 
payments  up;  so  for  absolute  security  for  the  wife  there's  nothing 
like  an  advowson."  "  Doesn't  the  price  of  a  presentation  depend 
upon  the  present  holder's  age?"  I  asked,  for  I  didn't  .seethe  fun  of 
negotiating  for  something  that  would  keep  the  young  people  waiting 
and  infliot  upon  us  all  the  nuisance  of  a  long  engayement,  "Far 
less  than  you'd  suppose,"  was  the  urbane  reply:  "besides,  in  any 
presentation  you  bou-^ht.sir.  Id  arrange  for  immediate  possession." 
'•  How  could  that  be  managed  ?"  "  Quite  easily— in  fact,  the  com- 
monest thing  in  the  world.  The  present  holder  resigns.  You  place 
the  money  in  your  solicitor's  hands.  Your  solicitor  sees  the  vendor's 
solicitor,  and  if  the  resignation  doesn't  take  plice,  why  the  cash  is 
not  parted  with.  I've  a  pretty  little  place  here,  (hands  me  a  photo- 
graph of  rectory,  (upon  which  I  notice  there  is  a  tolerable  stock  of 
such  photographs  on  mantle-piece  and  desk.)  but  it's  rather  beyond 
your  figure.  It  has  a  nice  church,  ioj,  in  capital  repair,  (hands  me  a 
photograph  of  church)— perhaps  if  you  could  make  it  guineas  we 
could  affect  the  purchase."  I  ask  about  the  incidental  expenses  con- 
nected with  the  transfer  of  this  kind  of  property;  and  find  it  to  be 
usual  for  the  vendor  to  pay  the  agent's  charges,  so  that  the  law>  h-'s 
bill  ("£ao  or  £40,  according  to  circumstances",)  is  all  that  will  iall 
upon  me.  I've  learnt  almost  as  much  as  I  want  to  know  by  i-  is 
time,  and  the  agent  and  myself  shake  hands  with  each  oth  ■. 
nuitually  pleased,  I  promising  at  his  request  "to  refer  to  this  inte.  • 
view  when  I  write."  I  brought  the  book  with  tlie  list  of  advowson  -. 
and  presentation  "  in  stock  "  away  with  me;  and  Madge,  Meekskip, 
and  myself,  shall  have  many  a  good  pore  over  it,  I  promise  you. 
before  deciding.  Old  Biber  wanted  to  make  me  believe  before  I  came 
ap  that  buying  or  selling  church  preferment  is  Simony,  and  that 
Simony  is  a  crime ;  but  I  flatter  myself  I  return  fully  able  to  convince 
him  of  the  absolute  absurdity  of  his  views.  This  copious  printed 
list  of  livings  on  hand;  the  number  of  respectable  applicants  (I  have 
omitted  half-a-dozen  interruptions  in  our  interview,  from  cards 
being  sent  in.  people  waiting,  and  so  forth),  who  were  waiting;  and 
the  unmistakable  air  of  prosperous  and  extensive  business  which 
environs  the  clerical  agent's  place— all  put  Simony  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. I  shall  buy  my  future  son-in-law  an  advowson  (freehold,)  just 
as  I  shall  buy  my  daughter  her  trousseau,  and  having  once  got  it, 
paid  for  it.  and  settled  it.  shall  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing  it  to 
be  as  permanent  provision  as  if  the  money  were  in  the  funds,  while 
Meekskip's  social  position  as  rector  will  be  far  better  than  a  poor 
curate  who  can't  preach,  with  a  small  additional  income  from  his 
wife. 


486 


AfPKNDIX. 


NOTE    V  1  I  r. 

Tho  Protestant  religion  is  now  froely  toloratoil  in  tho  City  of  Rome, 
though  contrary  to  tho  expressed  desire  of  the  "  Holy  Father;"  and 
Spain,  notwithstanding  the  fierce  protests  of  the  priest-party  has 
also  boforae  Liberal.  The  following  statement  will,  however,  show 
what  diftifulties  liberalstatesmenhavehadtoemjounter:  Col.Fiti'h. 
an  English  resident  in  Spain,  had  long  but  vainly  tried  to  obtain 
permission  to  erect  a  Protestant  Church  in  that  country.  During  tho 
reign  of  Queen  Isabella,  the  priests  being  all-powerful,  such  an 
application  from  a  heretic  was  treated  with  contempt;  but  after  the 
Queen  had  abdicated,  a  member  of  the  new  Government  issued  an 
autliorization.  dated  November  9, 1868 :  "  The  minister  of  Grace  and 
Justice  has  duly  considered  your  petition  to  erect  a  Protestant  temple 
in  this  Capital.  :ind  has  seen  fit  to  authorize  it.  You  can  now  pro- 
co«'d  with  its  construction  in  such  manner  as  shall  conform  to  the 
municipal  ordinances." 

One  would  think  that  such  a  concession  ought  not  to  excite  the 
hostility  of  any  reasonable  person,  but  the  ultra-Catholic  papers 
seemed  to  grow  frantic  over  the  permission.  Tho"  liegeneracion" 
thundered  out:  "No  man  ever  committed  such  an  outrage  on  tho 
Spanish  people  as  Romeico  Ortez,  the  minister  who  granted  it.  Since 
Spain  existed  such  a  disgraceful  and  suicidal  act  never  was  com- 
mitted. We  say  it.  but  nut  liypocritically,  we  shall  make  special 
prayer  to  God  for  the  salvation  of  the  soul  of  this  degenerated  man.' 
Poor  Ortez! 

NOTE    IX. 

A    missionary's    HAUDSIIIPS    AND    SUFFERINGS. 

A  large  majority  of  the  impulsive  ChristiauB  who  give  so  freely 
and  so  liberally  to  the  mission  fund,  are  no  doubt  under  tho  impres- 
sion that  a  missionary's  life  is  one  of  great  hardship  and  danger. 
Madame  Ida  Pfei/er,  the  great  travehu',  was  of  the  same  opinion 
until  she  visited  the  missionary  statims  in  liidia,  and  sho  writes  as 
follows:  "In  my  opinion  the  missionaries  wrc  almost  if  not  com- 
plete martyrs,  and  I  thought  that  they  were  so  absorbed  with  zeal  and 
the  desire  to  convert  the  heathen  that,  like  the  disciples  of  Christ, 
(luite  forgetting  their  comforts  and  necessaries,  thoy  dwell  with  them 
under  one  roof,  and  ate  from  one  dish,  etc.  Alas !  t'lese  were  pictures 
and  representations  whi<!h  I  had  gathered  out  of  books;  in  reivlity 
the  case  was  very  different.  They  lead  the  same  kind  of  life  as  tho 
wealthy;  they  have  handsome  dwellings,  which  are  fitted  up  with 
luxurious  furniture,  and  every  convenience.  They  recline  upon 
easy  divans,  while  their  wives  preside  at  tho  tea-table,  and  tha 
children  attack  the  cakes  and  sw(?etmeats  heartily;  indeed  their 
position  ispleasanter  and  freer  from  care  than  that  of  most  people; 
their  occupation  is  not  very  laborious,  and  their  income  is  certain, 
whatever  may  be  the  national  or  political  condition  of  their  coun- 
try. .  .  .  Many  of  the  missionaries  believe  that  they  raixht 
ellect  a  great  deal  by  preaching  and  issuing  religious  tracts  in  tho 
native  language  in  the  towns  and  villages.  They  give  the  most 
Dttractive  report  of  the  multitudes  of  people  who  crov/d  to  hear 
theii  preaching  and  receive  their  tracts,  and  it  might  reasonably  be 
thought  that,  according  to  their  roprosontations,  at  least  half  of  their 


APPKNDIX. 


487 


ll 


hearers  would  become  converts  to  Chiistliinity:but  unfortunately 
the  listening  and  rccoivins  traets  is  us  good  as  no  proof  at  all. 
Would  not  Chinese,  Indian,  or  Persian  priests  have  just  as  great 
troops  of  hearers  if  they  appeared  in  their  resp<  otivo  national 
costume  in  England  or  Franco  and  preached  in  the  language  of  those 
countries  ?  Would  not  peoph^  flock  around  them  ?  Would  they  not 
receive  the  tracts  given  out  gratis,  even  if  they  could  not  read  them  ? 

I  have  made  the  minutest  inquiries  in  all  places  respecting  the 
results  of  missions,  and  have  always  hoard  that  a  baptism  is  one  of 
the  greatest  rarities.  The  few  Christians  in  India  who  here  and 
there  form  villages  of  twenty  or  thirty  families,  have  resulted  prin- 
cipally from  orphan  children,  who  had  been  adopted  and  broughtup 
by  the  missionaries;  but  even  thuso  rcauiro  to  bo  supplied  with 
work,  and  comfortably  attended  to,  in  order  (o  prevent  them  from 
falling  back  into  their  superstitions." 

Alluding  to  the  manner  in  which  missionaries  travel  about  to 
spread  the  Gospel,  she  says:  "  At  the  same  time,  it  must  bo  remem- 
bered that  these  journeys  are  not  made  in  a  very  simple  manner:  as 
mine  has  been,  for  iuHtanee;  the  missionary  surrounds  himself 
with  numerous  conveniencies;  he  has  palaquins  carried  by  men, 
pack-horses,  or  camels,  with  tents,  beds,  culinary  and  table  utensils ; 
servants  and  maids  in  sulTicient  number.  And  who  pays  for  all  this  V 
Frequently  poor  credulous  souls  in  Europe  and  North  America,  who 
often  deny  themselves  the  neccssar)<'s  of  life,  that  their  little  savings 
maybe  squandered  in  this  way  in  distant  parts  of  the  world."— .4 
Woman's  Jou7'ney  Around  tlie  World. 


In 


'*[ 


NOTE    X. 

THE  MORTARA   ('AST. 

Many  will  no  doubt  reniombor  that  in  the  year  1858,  one  of  the  most 
unjust  and  fanatical  acts  ever  perpetrated  by  the  Church  of  Rome, 
took  place  in  the  city  of  r.oloKna,  Italy.  On  the  23d  of  June,  in  that 
year,  a  respectable  Jew  of  that  city.  Signer  Monolo  Mortara,  a 
manufacturer  and  wholesale  merchant  of  cloth,  upon  returning 
home  about  ten  o'clock  at  night,  found  that  Padre  Felletti,  inquisitor- 
in-chief  at  Bologna,  had  sent  a  number  of  policemen  to  carry  off  his 
son  Edgar,  a  mere  child,  who,  it  was  said,  had  boon  surreptitiously 
baptised  aChristian  by  a  bigoted  Roman  Catholic  servant-maid.  The 
parents  of  the  boy  were  of  course  greatly  surprised  and  afflicted, 
and  entreated  that  he  should  not  then  be  taken  away,  in  order  that 
the  Archbishop  of  Bologna  might  in  the  mean  time  be  appealed  to; 
but  as  he  was  absent,  little  further  delay  was  granted,  and  the  next 
evening  a  number  of  papal  soldiers  entered  the  house  and  "  tore  tho 
child  out  of  his  father's  arms."  Tho  boy  was  then  taken  to  Rome 
and  immured  in  a  convent.  Cardinal  Antonelli,  and  other  Roman 
Church  dignitaries  had  been  appealed  toby  the  parents  with  little  or 
no  elt'uct;  for  it  was  said,  that  as  the  child  had  received  Christian 
baptism— even  though  by  the  hands  of  a  common  servant-maid— tho 
church  could  not  consent  that  tho  boy  should  be  returned  to  the 
perilous  charge  of  unbelicvintr  parents.  The  parents,  as  well  as  tho 
boy  himself,  pleaded  that  he  should  be  allowed  to  return  to  his  own 
home,  but  all  entreaties  were  in  vain,  neither  the  archbishop  of 
Bologna,  nor  Cardinal  Antonelli.  nor  the  Pope  himself,  would  cou- 


m 


488 


APPF.NDIX. 


sent  tlint  he  Bhould  bo  civeu  up :  and  Ibis  cnse  of  opuresslon  cau8.^d 
snob  excitement  at  the  time  in  Europe,  that  tlio  indignation  in  Eng- 
hind  was  intense,  and  protests  from  the  EvanKolical  Aliiau«.'o.  from 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  many  other  bisliops;  frompoers 
and  from  members  of  Parliament,  from  Jews,  and  from  other  classes 
were  forwarded  against  the  outrage. 

Well,  if  such  an  outcry  was  raised  against  the  IJoman  Churc-h  for 
its  sanction  of  such  tyranny,  what  shall  be  said  in  denunciation  of  a 
similiar  atrocity  on  the  part  of  Protestants  ?  The  British  law,  to  be 
sure,  quickly  brought  redress ;  but  priestly  infatuation  and  duplicity 
wus  much  the  same  in  one  case  as  in  the  other.  The  following 
jiceount  from  an  English  paper  describes  what  has  been  called  the 

Baptist  Mortara  Case,"  and  proves  how  men,  and  even  women— 
under  the  impression  that  they  are  doing  what  is  right— can  bo 
i)etrayed  into  the  commission  of  the  most  heartl<>ss  ac'.s,  too  often 
th.)  consequences  of  their  minds  having  been  debauched  by  super- 
stitions. 

The  Lyons  Cask.— A  very  extriordinary  cjiso  has  been  tried  lately 
before  Mr.  Baron  Chanell,  at  the  Cardift  assizes.    It  was  the  subject  of 
a  good  deal  of  talk  some  months  ago.    It  was  alleged  that  a  Jewish 
girl,  named  Esther  Lyons,  had  been  surreptitiously  converted  to 
Christianity  by  the  wife  of  a  Baptist  minister  named  Thomas,  and 
then  induced  by  the  same  lady  to  leave  her  father's  house  and  remain 
iiway  from  it.    What  was  certain  about  the  ear^e  was  that  the  girl  had 
liticome  a  Christian,  that  she  was  away  from  her  father's  house,  and 
that  she  declined  to  return  to  it.    How  far  Mrs.  Thomas  and  her 
husband  (who  was  supposed  to  be  involved  in  the  alTair)  were  guilty 
has  always  been  a  matter  o).  dispute.    The  wUoNi  case  is  now,  how- 
ever, undergoing  a  full  invesi'.igation  before  a  jury,  the  fatlmr  of  Miss 
Lyons  having  brought  an  aciion  against  the  llev.  Nathaniel  Thomas 
and  Louisa  Ann  Emily  Thomas,  his  wife,  and  vnrlous  other  persons. 
The  trial  (which  began  on  Monday)  appears  to  be  exciting  enormous 
'iiterest  throughout  South  Wales.    The  court  is  crowded  daily,  and 
t  he  local  papers  say  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  gain  admissi  jn.    Ladies 
t  ^pecially  are  present  in  great  numbers.    On  Tuesday  morning  the 
luuoino  of  the  case  was  brought  into  the  court  by  the  clerk  to  the 
dffendants'  attorney.    As  soon  as  the  yo\iiK,'  lady  was  seated,  and  was 
observed  by  her  mother,  the  latter  began  to  cry  out,  "Esther,  my  dear 
Jisther,  come  and  sit  by  your  mother."    The  entreaty  was  allowed  to 
1  ass  unnoticed  by  the  child,  who  warmly  shook  hands  with  those 
ladie.s— her  "dear  friends,"'  as  she  calls  them  in  one  of  her  letters— 
l»y  whom  she  was  surrounded.    It  was  distressing  (says  the  local 
reporter)  to  listen  to  the  mother's  appeal,  and  the  judge  sugg<'sted 
that  she  had  belter  bo  removed  from  the  court  ai^d  accomodated  with 
a  seat  in  one  of  the  rooms.    At  last  the  poor  woman  fainted,  and  she 
\  as  then  taken  out.    Mr.  Barnett  Lyons,  the  plaintiff",  gave  evidence 
at  great  length.    He  iletailed  how  his  daughter  left  him  on  the  'lid  of 
,-^March,  la.st  year,  {'ud  how  he  went  to  the  house  of  the  llev.  IMr. 
'J'hoRias  to  seek  her.    Mr.  Thomas  assured  him  ho  did  not  knoNf 
where  the  young  lady  was.  and  he  subsequently  saw  Mrs.  Thonins, 
who  admitted  that  Esther  had  slept  one  night  in  her  house,  but  would 
not  give  any  further  information.    So,  after  being  asked  by  the  lady 
(who  said  she  had  been  praying  for  his  family's  fonversion  for  thiee 
wt^eks)  to  accept  a  little  ))ook,  he  took  his  leave.    That  day  or  the 


APl'EMDlX. 


489 


ne:ct  lit)  mot  Mr.  Thomnp.wlio.  in  reply  to  tlio  (lUfStiona  about  hU 
(laughter.  BiiiU:  "I  don't  know;  you  will  hour  ol"  her.  Whorevor  sho 
is.  Bho  i8  Hafo."  An  arningement  was  at  length  come  to,  that  Mr. 
Lyons  should  »ee  his  Uuughtor  on  c'<.'rtain  condition j,  but  ho  was  to 
pay  down  a  sum  £lO.  Ho  olTcrud  Mr,  Thomas  a  chetiue  for  that  sum, 
but  he  would  not  tako  it,  ami  it  then  appeared  that  Miss  Lyons  had 
refused  the  interview.  fcJho  did  see  her  father,  however,  in  a  lawyer's 
olKlce  in  London  and  positively  refused  to  i;o  back.  The  cross- 
t  xamination  of  Mr.  Lyons  and  of  his  wife  (who  was  subsequently 
••ailed)  was  directed  to  show  that  they  had  systematically  ill-treated 
their  dauRhter.  This  they  positively  denied.  On  Wednesday  the 
defendant's  counsel  protested  against  the  intimidation  of  Miss 
Lyons,  by  her  whole  family  being  brought  into  court,  and  by  the 
conduct  of  the  Jewesses  present,  which,  the  reporter  says,  turned 
the  court  into  a  Jewish  "  place  of  wailing."  Mrs.  Lyons  was  ex- 
amined, and  denied  that  she  had  ever  ill-used  her  daughter,  but 
Esther  herself  spoke  to  a  number  of  speeillc  acts  of  cruelty.  Before 
her  evidence  was  over, she  fainted,  and  had  to  be  carriedoutof  court. 
Then  a  dispute  arose  as  to  who  should  take  care  of  her.  The  learned 
judge  said  she  mubt  be  seen  by  no  one  connected  with  the  case,  and 
directed  the  governor  of  the  jail  to  see  that  she  had  every  requisite 
for  the  ni;,'ht.  A  medical  gentleman  was  called,  and  he  reported 
that  it  would  be  impossible  for  Miss  Lyons  to  be  examined  further  at 
present,  an  l  so  the  court  had  to  be  adjoyn-iied— English  Paper. 

NOTE    XL 

Many  half-informed  Christian  priests  are  still  bold  in  the  asser- 
tion that  much,  if  not  all,  of  ancient  Pagan  wisdom  and  morality  was 
obtained  directly  or  indirectly  from  Jewish  sources;  while  eminent 
Christian  scholars  have  been  forced  to  admit  Ihat  such  could  not 
possibly  be  the  case.  The  ancient  Jews  wore  an  ignorant,  stupid  and 
barbarous  I'acc,  and  any  true  enlightenment  they  had  was  mostly 
a  reflection  of  that  which  had  long  previously  existed  among  Pagan 
nations. 

Barnes,  in  an  endeavor  to  prove  that  the  Bible  came  from  God, 
and  that  it  could  not  have  been  originated  by  illiterate  Jews,  says  of 
that  people:  "The  Bible  came  from  a  land  undistinguished  for 
literature—a  land  not  rich  in  classical  associations,  a  land  not  dis- 
tinguished for  pushing  its  discoveries  into  the  regions  of  science. 
Chaldea  had  its  observatories,  and  the  dwellers  there  looked  out  on 
the  stars  and  gave  them  names;  Egypt  had  its  temples  where  the 
truths  of  science  as  well  as  the  precepts  of  religion  were  committed 
to  the  sacred  priesthood:  Greece  had  academic  groves;  but  Judea 
had  neither.  To  such  things  the  attention  of  the  nation  was  never 
turned.  We  have  all  llieir  literature,  all  their  science,  all  the'r 
knowledge  of  art.  and  all  this  is  in  the  Bible.  Among  the  ancients 
they  were  regarded  as  a  narrow-minded,  a  bigoted,  a  superstitious 
people."— Xec/Mre.s  on  Evidi'nre  of  Christianity,  pp.  2r)7-8, 

While  the  Jews  were  in  this  low  condition,  and  ages  before  the 
compilation  of  the  Bible  had  been  attempted,  many  Pagan  nations 
were  in  a  highly  intellectual  state;  and  a  Christian  writer.  Rev.  Dr. 
Croker,  honestly  asserts  that:  **  The  statement  of  Justin  Martyr  and 
Tertullian.  that  Pagan  philosophers  borrowed  from  Jewish  prophets, 
ttud  the  supposition  that  Plato  had  access  to  a  Greek  version  of  th*^ 


490 


APPENDIX. 


Old  TostHinont  In  Egypt,  are  obviously  mere  suppositious  by  which 
over-zoalouB  Christiana  sought  to  muintain  the  supremiwy  of  th<i 
Scriptures.  The  travels  of  Pythagoras  are  altogether  mythical.  tli»» 
mere  invention  of  Alexandrian  writers  who  believed  that  all  wisdom 
flowed  from  the  East.  That  Plato  visited  E.rypt  at  all.  rests  on  the 
single  authority  .  f  Strabo,  who  lived  at  It'ust  four  centuries  afl<i' 
Plato,  and  there  is  no  trace  in  his  own  works  of  Egyptian  research. 
His  pretended  travels  in  PhtEnicia,  where  lie  gained  from  the  Jews  a 
knowledge  of  the  true  God,  are  more  unreliable  still.  Plato  lived  in 
the  fourth  century  before  Christ,  and  there  is  no  good  evidence  of 
the  existence  of  a  Greek  version  of  the  Old  Testament  before  that  of 
the  Seventy  made  by  order  of  Ptolemy  Philadolphus,  B.  C.  270.  Jere- 
miah, the  prophet  of  Israel,  lived  two  centuries  before  Plato, 
eonscduently  any  personal  interview  between  the  two  was  simply 
impossible."— C/trt.s/iaut/y  aui  Greek  Philosophic,  p.  47tf. 

NOTE  XII. 

MUSrULAll  CHRISTIANITY. 

At  a  meeting  held  near  Newry,  the  llev.  Mr.  Htokes  Is  reported  to 
bave  observed  that  "  It  had  been  oddly  proposed  that  some  of  the 
Protestant  cathedrals  should  bo  handed  over  to  the  Roman  Catholics ; 
but  he  believed  that  it  was  the  feeling  of  ioo.ooo  Orangemen  of  Ulster 
that  if  a  single  Protestant  cathedral,  Protestant  church  or  Protestant 
imrsunage-houso  in  the  most  remote  or  distant  part  of  Connaught 
or  Munster  was  handed  over  to  the  apostate  Church  of  Homo,  they 
would  know  where  to  find  cathedrals  that  were  just  as  good  as  the 
cathedrals  handed  over.  They  know  wl'.ere  to  find  the  Roman 
Catholic  cathedral  of  Armagh,  and  they  felt  that  their  200,000  stout 
arms  would  be  able  to  hold  it.  They  would  say  to  the  pastors  of 
every  Protestant  church  that,  before  they  gave  it  up  to  any  apostatt^ 
system,  a  barrel  of  gunpowder  and  a  box  of  matches  would  send  it 
to  the  winds  of  heaven."  The  Rev.  Mr.  Stokes  is  a  fair  type  of  the 
genuine  orthodox  Christian— one  of  those  who  so  valiantly  supported 
Cromwell  in  his  deeds  of  blood  and  devastation.  Instead  of  "  Resist 
not  evil,"  our  Rev.  hero  would  strusfglo  hard  to  crush  those  who 
preach  any  other  religion  than  his,  at  least  in  his  "house  of  God;" 
rather  than  forgive  Christian  brethren,  the  Rev.  gentleman  would 
retaliate  by  seeking  to  emulate  the  exploits  of  the  memorable  Guy 
Fawkes.  This  is  muscular  Christianity  with  a  veagoaucej— Xo?ic/oii 
National  liefortacr. 

NOTE  XIII. 

A  late  instance  of  the  unfeeling  manner  in  which  certain  clerical 
magistraties  deal  with  poor  working  people  in  England,  is  related 
h\  a  London  corresyoudent  of  the  New  York  Tribune,  dated  May  27, 
l;7i. 

It  seems  that  in  the  town  or  village  of  Ascott  in  Oxfordshire,  a  Mr. 
H.  refused  to  give  to  certain  laborers— seventeen  men— the  wages 
they  demaudod,  U  shillings  each— about  $3.50  per  week— and  so  they 
quitted  his  work.  He  afterwards  succeeded  in  hiring  two  men  to 
work  at  his  price,  but  in  order  to  induce  these  men  nut  to  work  for 
farmer  H the  wives  of  the  seventeen  men  met  them,  aud,  as  far- 
mer H swore,  tried  to  intimidate  them  from  going  to  work  for 

liim.    He  had  these  women  brought  before  two  reverend  magis- 


APPENDIX. 


491 


(ratos,  who  arc  priests  of  the  State  Church— the  Rev.  Mr.  Harris. and 
tho  Uov.  Mr.  Carter,  at  Chipping  Norton,  a  town  some  miles  away 
from  Ascott— and  sixteen  of  the  women  were  sentenced  to  prison  with 
hard  labor,  nine  of  them  for  seven  days,  and  seven  of  thorn  for  Ion 
days.  The  women  being  too  poor  had  no  one  to  defend  them,  and 
two  of  them  had  children  infants  at  the  breast.  The  corrospondont 
says :  "  For  the  credit  of  England  let  me  say  that  a  sentence  so  bru- 
tal has  shocked  everybody.  The  papers  are  ringing  with  denuu- 
eiations  this  morning." 

Alluding  to  the  magistrates  in  the  case,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  said : 
"Their  interests  and  sympathies  are  all  with  the  class,  which  in 
cases  arising  under  the  act  is  almost  invariably  with  the  prosecutor, 
and  it  will  often  happen  that  even  the  best  of  them  will  be  under  tho 
inlluonee  of  a  feeling,  which  sees  in  a  strike  an  outburst  of  wicked 
insubordination." 

A  A  the  London  Times  said:  "The  conduct  of  these  magiatratos 
was  deplorable,  the  disproportion  of  the  punishment  to  the  offense 
is  altogether  indefensible"— and  It  called  upon  the  Lord  Chancellor 
to  remove  these  reverend  tyrants  from  tho  bench. 

Subsequently  the  working  people  assembled,  a  riot  ensued,  tho 
police  station  was  attacked  and  much  injury  done. 

So  great  was  the  expression  of  public  opinion  at  the  outrage  that 
the  matter  was  afterward  brought  before  Parliament. 

NOTE  XIV. 

The*'worldllness"of  the  clerical  gentry  of  the  State  Church  has 
long  been  a  public  theme;  but  when  a  paper  supposed  to  be  In  tho 
interests  of  the  Establishment  publicly  reflects  upon  the  presumed 
deflelencies  of  its  chief  pastors,  ordinary  people  will  begin  to  en- 
quire \rhy  such  "galtered  chatterboxes"  and  "wind-bags  of  tho 
Episcopal  bench  "  are  yet  retained  and  allowed  to  deplete  the  public 
treasury  by  annually  drawing  very  large  salaries  for  their  "flum- 
mery, flattery  and  platitudes."  While  many  of  their  spiritual  lord- 
ships are  fond  of  display  and  keep  up  almost  regal  establishments. 
It  seems  that  others  of  them,  according  to  the  Church  Herald,  are 
stingy,  penurious  and  grasping. 

In  a  late  issue  the  London  Church  Herald  complimented  the 
bishops  in  the  following  style: 

"There  never  was  a  time  when  bishops  were  so  painfully  com- 
m  nplace  and  notoriously  unremarkable."  "  Now  we  are  blessed  with 
popularity-hunting  prigs,  gaitered  chatterboxes,  flimsy  scholars. 
smug  vulgarians;  men  whose  principles,  whether  good  or  bad,  are 
so  deeply  buried  in  tho  dark  recesses  of  their  own  consciousness 
that  neither  themselves  nor  anybody  else  have  ever  been  able  to 
flnd  them  out."    Then  It  asked : 

"  Who  that  had  been  present  at  the  so-called  *  Working-men's 
meetings '  at  our  autumnal  congresses  has  not  felt  a  glow  of  shame 
suffuse  his  heart,  and  a  blush  of  ignoray  crimson  his  countenance, 
when  listening  to  the  soulless  twaddle  and  degrading  commonplace 
flowing  out  of  episcopal  mouths  on  such  occasions  ?  No  high  prin- 
ciple taught,  no  lofty  and  Divine  truth  Inculcated,  no  distinctive 
Church  doctrine  set  forth,  no  sins  and  shortcomings  of  working-mon 
boldly  and  bravely  rebuked.  Flummery,  flattery,  and  platitudes 
enunciated  by  the  ever-talkative  wind-bags  of  the  episcopal  bench. 


492 


ATPKNUIX. 


DDeaanyseuHihlu  innn  think  for  ono-halfHuooiiil  that  by  such  painful 
und  degrading  exhibitions  in  which  bishopH,  both  in  mutter  and 
manner,  are  lowered  to  tlie  low  level  of  tub-orutors,  the  Church  of 
En>;land  is  helped  in  any  way,  or  the  opposition  of  consistent  rulitf- 
ii)iis  opponents  of  that  Church  succesfuUy  bought  off." 

Here  is  another  choice  bit  from  the  sketch  of  the  "  Bishop  of  the 
Purlod:" 

"Cunning  and  clever,  he  keeps  as  chaplains  lick-spittle  creatures 
of  the  baser  sort,  who  hoist  moral  storm  signals  to  see  which  wuy 
the  wind  blows,  or  who  act  as  clerical  detectives  in  plain  clothes,  and 
inform  his  lordship  of  their  earnest  labors.  The  bishop  only  exer- 
cises hospitality  when  such  work  is  absolutely  essential,  beintf 
stingy,  penurious  and  grasping.  With  nauseous  ostentation,  own- 
ing *5.ooo  a  year,  he  has  cut  down  his  household  expenses,  so  as  t(j 
save  money  and  found  a  family.  Butler,  footman,  and  pages  are  not 
now  at  the  palace.  And  a  witty  country  wag  libolously  avers  that 
the  bishop  is  shaved  by  the  lady's-maid.  He  rides  to  confirmations  in 
H  gig,  or  sometimes  walks  all  the  way  in  wet  weather,  taking  care 
thab  one  of  his  literary  chaplains  privately  informs  some  of  the 
London  newspapers  of  lils  truly  humble  and  Christian  spirit. 

One  would  almost  think  these  superllne  gentlemen  were  talking 
about  preachers  in  "  Salem  Chapel.'  See  olso  a  caustic  article  on 
bishops  In  the  Edinburgh  Iteineic  for  December.  1828. 

NOTE    XV. 

From  an  EnoJ'inh  Pojhw. 

A  Curate's  Stoky.— The  Rev.  W.  J.  Shearlcy,  M.  A.,  incumbent  of 
Christ  Church.  Henton,  in  the  parish  of  Wookey.  near  Wells  Somer- 
set, has  written  a  pamphlet  which  now  lies  before  us.  In  it  he 
describes  what  patronage  has  done  for  him,  and  how  it  works  in  his 
neighborhood.  He  discloses  his  personal  history  with  unusual 
frankness— this,  indeed,  bein^r  necessary  for  the  understanding  of 
his  case.  He  entered  the  ministry,  he  tells  us.  "  with  honest  intention 
and  some  zeal,"  not  being  "constrained  to  take  orders  for  bread," 
which  is  a  happy  thing ;  for,  if  he  had  done  so,  he  must  apparently 
have  starved  on  £100  a  year.  He  took  a  degree  at  Cambridge,  in  isio, 
and  then  became  vice-principal  of  a  training  college  at  Chester, 
where  he  married  his  present  wife,  "by  whom,"  he  says,  "I  have 
four  sons  and  eix  daughters— blessed  be  God— all  living."  }iut  he 
must  needs  go  into  the  ministry ;  and  after  a  couple  of  curacies  in 
the  diocese  of  Cheshire,  he  got  a  recommendation  from  the  bishop 
to  his  present  small  incumbency,  which  had  just  bi^en  taken  out  of 
the  parish  at  Wookey.  and  endowed  with  a  stipend  of  £100  per 
annum.  There  was  no  minister's  house,  but  he  was  accommodated 
with  one  in  the  out-parish  of  We]ls,  at  the  easy  rent  of  £30,  leaving 
£70  for  himself  and  his  growing  family.  He  was  commiserated  by 
the  neighboring  clergy ;  but  he  set  to  work  conscienticusly,  and  for 
one  and  twenty  years  he  has  "walked  ihrough  the  heats  of  the  sum- 
mer and  colds  of  winter  "  to  look  after  his  parishioners.  There  is  a 
Dissenting  chapel  in  the  village,  in  which  "  Bible  Christians  "  hold 
services,  and  of  these  Mr.  Shearley  speaks  respectfully,  not  denying 
that  they  have  had  a  share  in  producing  peace,  order  and  religious- 
ness in  the  place,  but  he  modestly  claims  some  credit  also  for 
himself. 


APPKNniX. 


493 


Oil  llio  4th  of  July,  the  Vicar  of  Wookey  died,  and  Mr.  aiioarley 
tliought  that  after  Bo  many  years' servleo  he  wjih  justifled  in  asliiiitj 
for  the  place.  Ko  had  burao  the  heutand  burthen  of  the  day,  and 
"  looking;  upon  the  bishop  as  a  trustee  to  udoiinistor  his  patronatfu 
us  in  the  siglit  of  God."  "he  at  least  expected  that  his  claim  would  b  ) 
seriously  conf!id«ued."  and  if  rejected.  "  yet  courteously  and  kindly, 
and  in  the  fear  of  God."  Nobody  will  accuse  Mr.  Shearley  of  un- 
reasonableness. He  wrote  instantl'  to  the  bishop  (the  Vicar  died  on 
Saturday)  and  on  Monday  he  transported  himself. by  aid  of  the  train 
and  a  "  swift  cab  "  to  tlio  bishc^p's  town-liouso  in  Queen  Suuaro, 
Westminster.  His  lordship's  earriak'e  was  "at  the  widely-opened 
door,"  and  the  butler  before  it ;  but  as  soon  as  Mr.  Sheariey  was  seen 
approachiiYK  up  the  steps  the  door  was  shunned  to  in  his  face,  but 
not  before  he  had  caught  sight  of  the  biahop,  a  lady,  and  liis  secre- 
tary in  the  hall.  He  shall  tell  the  rest  in  his  own  words:  "I  felt 
instinctively— being  well  known  to  the  butler  by  sight— that  my 
presence  was  a  difficulty,  and  not  till  after  some  waiting  I  pulled  the 
boll;  then  the  butler  appeared  and  said  I  could  not  see  the  bishop; 
then  I  asked  to  see  Mr.  Bernard,  but  no  admission  after  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  travel,  and  to  his  credit,  M;.  Bernard,  who  then 
appeared,  seemed  willing  that  I  should  see  the  bishop,  but  the 
butler  reiterated  no  admission,  by  ordc-  of  Dr.  A,  B,  or  C.  and  I  was 
left  on  the  door  step.  Mr.  Bernard  proposed  that  I  should  walk  with 
him  in  the  street,  and  then  told  me  th.it  an  arrangement  had  been 
made  some  months  since,  as  the  icport  was  Mr.  Sluart  Intended 
resignation.  Mr.  Bernard  said  a  letter  was  waiting  for  me.  and 
1  asked  him  to  get  it.  as  I  might  as  well  have  the  authoritative  refusal 
without  delay ;  he  returned  and  brought  letter  A ;  that  I  was  roughly 
treated,  no  one  can  deny— left  on  the  dojr  step,  and  the  bishop,  etc., 
etc..  behind  the  door;  knowing  the  probability  of  my  early  visit, 
there  seems  to  have  been  a  djtermination  to  avoid  seeing  me,  but 
I  arrived  at  the  very  moment  when  my  presence  was  embarrassing, 
and  I  was  left  to  return  to  Wells  witli  a  bare  and  hard  denial  of  a 
request,  considerate  in  its  terms,  and  reasonable  in  its  character. 
Alas,  alas!  how  weary— how  heartsick  I  I  had  been  used  as  I  never 
used  the  poorest  man.  To  get  rid  of  me  was  the  point ;  and  to  drive 
the  suppliant  curate  of  more  than  fifty  years  of  age.  and  after  twenty- 
one  years'  of  ago  service,  empty  away  in  the  fullest  sense  of  the 
words,  was  the  conjoint  action  of  the  screened  assembly."  The 
letter  of  the  bishop  was  brief.  It  ran  thus :  "  My  dear  Mr.  Sheariey : 
I  am  extremely  sorry  to  hear  of  Mr.  Stuart's  death.  I  regret  that 
lam  unable  to  promise  the  vacancy  to  yoi,  having  other  arrange- 
ments in  contemplation.  Faithfully  yours.  Auckland,  Bath  and 
Wells."  Mr.  Sheariey  remonstrated  by  letter  with  his  bishop  for 
turning  him  away  from  his  door  with  such  scant  courtesy,  when 
a  rest  of  but  ten  minutes  would  have  been  welcome.  Ho  knew,  he 
said,  that  it  was  impolite  to  write  thus,  but  he  had  counted  the  cost, 
"I  could  not  help  thinking  of  the  different  way  in  which  Christian 
people  regard  Christian  courtesies."  He  himself  invited  a  poor  man 
with  a  wooden  leg  to  take  a  ride  in  his  fly.  as  he  was  posting  to  the 
bishop— the  bishop  would  not  ask  one  of  his  own  clergy  as  much  as 
to  sit  down  and  rest  in  his  hall !  Four  days  afterwards  Mr.  Sheariey 
learned  the  living  of  Wookey  was  given  to  the  bishop's  nephew.  Mr. 
Shearley"sexpcrieui?6a  on  this  memorable  6th  of  July,  seems  to  have 


404 


APPENDIX. 


broiiKht  hlin  miiuh  litrht  un  indiiy  thinffa.  If  such  in  th«)  way  in 
which  tho  hiird-workiiiK  clyr^y  aro  troated,  *'  oiijrht  thn  patronH^u  to 
remain  where  so  much  opportunity  is  alTordod  to  liiddon  and  advetiio 
influonoes  ?"  Ho  begins  to  see  that  tho  **  political  exaltation  of 
bishops  and  dignitaries  has  little  afllnity  with  tho  oloction  of 
Matthias  to  the  ministry  apostloship,  and  tho  spiritual  ovcrHuor 
Hcrms  often  too  much  Incumbered  with  over-services  to  the  demands 
of  customs  and  requisitions  of  lordly  state."  It  "  may  be  also  that 
cathedral  establishments  call  for  modillcation  and  rcjuvoncscenoo;" 
for,  when  "  two  of  the  best  livings  in  the  gift  of  the  Dean  and  Chapter 
of  Wells  "  are  given  to  yoiing  men  not  resident  there  for  more  than 
four  or  Ave  years,  we  can  but  lament  and  wish  It  had  not  been 
ih\xa."—Enylish  JudeptniJent. 

NOTE    XVL 

Tho  sporting  propensities  of  clergymen,  particularly  those  of  the 
8tato  Church,  have  been  publicly  commented  on  a  thousand  times, 
and  lest  it  might  be  asserted  that  certain  clerical  frailties  introduced 
Into  this  work  are  e\a*;gerations,  a  few  instances  are  given  of  some 
of  the  latest  departures  from  "  moral  rocitude  "  on  the  part  of  sora^ 
of  tho  ordained  "servants  of  tho  Lord."  The  following  extracts  aro 
taken  from  tho  public  papers ;  the  list  could  be  greatly  extended  and 
the  names  added  of  many  erring  priests  and  preachers  of  other 
denominations. 

THE  C00K9  AND  THE  CLEUaYMEN. 

The  London  correspondent  of  the  New  York  World  aayB:  Scandal- 
loving  people  Iwive  of  late  been  feasted  full  of  fat  things,  and  during 
the  last  week  they  have  been  regaled  with  two  unusually  shocking 
cases,  in  which  the  delinquents  were  clergymen  cf  the  Church  of 
England.  Both  of  tho  ciises  were  very  similar;  In  each  of  them  tho 
rector  of  a  village  seduced  one  of  his  domestic  servants  and  became 
the  father  of  an  illegitimate  child;  and  in  each  of  them  the  evidence 
disclosed  a  very  remarkable  and  astounding  condition  of  society 
among  these  pillars  of  the  establishment.  Of  one  of  them  I  shall 
speak  very  briefly;  tho  other  demands  a  more  extended  comment. 
"  The  rector  of  Hardwlcke,"  said  the  journals  the  other  day,  "  was 
yesterday  morning  charged  at  Cambridge  before  the  mayor  and 
several  other  borough  magistrates,  with  being  the  father  of  the 
illegitimate  child  of  Hannah  Abrahams,  former  domestic  servant  at 
the  rectory.  .  .  The  hearlngof  tho  case  occupied  three  hours, 
and  the  magistrates  eventually  made  an  order  of  2s.  6d.  per  week." 
The  other  case,  which  was  decided  on  Thursday  in  the  Court  of 
Arches,  Avas  a  still  worse  one.  Tho  Rev.  John  Jackson,  the  rector  at 
Ludbury,  was  charged  before  this  ecijlesiustical  tribunal  *'  with 
adultery  with  his  cook.  Elizabeth  Parry,  with  indecent  conduct 
toward  his  house-maid.  Elizabeth  Lane,  and  with  being  the  father  of 
tha  illegitimate  child  of  Elizabeth  Parry."  The  evidence  of  his  guilt 
was  perfectly  conclusive;  it  also  disclosed  the  fact  that  while  the 
rector  was  seducing  his  cook  his  wlfo  was  carrying  on  a  flirtailon 
with  tho  curate;  and  when  the  cook's  child  was  born,  the  rector, 
his  family  physician,  his  wife,  and  some  of  his  friends  tried  to  induce 
the  cook  to  swear  that  the  child  was  the  son  of  a  young  man  to  whom 
she  had  been  engaged,  and  who  would  have  married  her  had  she  not 
yielded  to  the  seductions  of  tho  parson.    This  is  really  a  shoekhis 


APl'KNDIX. 


41)5 


picture  ol  English  elorioal  life.  There  U  a  Krotvt  Mixiety  jus  now 
umonjf  ji  fwrtain  elasf*  of  weak-ralnded  pooplu  to  Induce  Paiiuimont 
to  appoint  a  (.'(Jiumlssiou  for  the  oxamination  of  oonventa ;  but  It 
nilKbt  aeom  that  thflro  was  a  more  orylnc  uocosslty  for  tho  oxainlnii- 
tion  of  reotorios.  The  Rev.  John  Jackson  is  a  man  advancod  beyond 
the  middle  staco  of  life;  ho  has  been  married  twonty-flve  years;  he 
has  boon  In  holy  orders  thirty  years;  and  he  has  held  the  valuabU 
Uvititf  at  Ludbury  for  ten  years.  In  January.  1868,  his  family  eon- 
Hl.stod  of  the  took,  the  housemaid,  two  other  servants,  himself  and 
wife,  Ihelr  son,  and  his  tutor,  a  tfentloman  preparing  for  holy  orders. 
Famlllaritios  took  place  between  the  cook  and  the  clergyman,  and  on 
four  or  five  ojeaslona  he  committed  adultery  with  her.  Suniu  time 
afterward,  however,  she  loft  the  rectory,  Mr.  Jackson  elving  her 
a  certltloato  of  good  character,  and  obtained  service  elsewhere,  but 
in  September  she  went  to  the  rectory  again,  and  was  there  delivered 
of  a  child.  Mr.  Jackson  gave  her  a  small  sum  of  money,  and  sunt 
her  away  after  her  conllnemont;  but  in  October,  Elizabeth  appeared 
one  line  iSunday  morning  in  the  church  with  tho  baby,  wlUlc  Mr. 
Jackson  was  performing  service,  held  up  the  child,  and  said,  in  a 
loud  voice,  "Look  at  your  daddy!"  This  produced  a  sad  commo- 
tion ;  and  a  few  days  afterward  the  magistrates  made  an  order  that 
Mr.  Jackson  should  pay  to  Parry  2s.  6d.  a  week  for  the  support  of  the 
child.  The  Dean  of  the  Court  held  that  there  could  be  no  doubt 
whatever  as  to  the  guilt  of  Mr.  Jackson  In  regard  to  any  of  the 
charges  against  him,  and  In  delivering  his  judgment  he  made  some 
very  scathing  remarks  concerning  him.  "It  is  disgraceful,"  said 
the  learned  Dean,  "when  the  master  of  an  ordinary  household  avails 
himself  of  his  authority  and  position  to  corrupt  his  female  servants ; 
but  when  timt  master  is  also  a  clergyman,  the  disgrace  is  greater 
and  the  consequences  far  more  mischievous.  Tho  scandal  whl(!h 
the  defendant  has  inflicted  upon  the  parish  committed  to  his  care, 
appears  to  have  taken  deep  root,  and  will  not  be  easily  eradicated. 
The  defendant  has  done  much  to  Injure  the  cause  of  religion,  and  to 
weaken  the  influence  of  the  Church,  of  which  he  is  a  priest."  But, 
as  the  original  offense  had  been  committed  more  than  two  years  ago, 
it  was  barred  by  the  statute  of  limitations,  and  it  was  only  within  the 
power  of  the  Dean  to  pronounce  a  sentence  of  suspension  ab  offitno  el 
heuificio  for  Ave  years.  At  the  expiration  of  this  period  Mr.  Jackson 
may  return  to  his  holy  ofllce,  and  again  devote  himself  to  the  work 
of  increasing  the  population  of  the  parish. 

An  English  clergyman,  the  Rev.  V.  H.  Moyle.  has  boon  charged 
before  the  magistrate  at  Middlesborough,  with  having  forged  docu- 
ments to  the  value  of  £22,000,  in  connection  with  an  iron  company  in 
which  he  was  a  shareholder. 

The  clergy  of  England  seem  to  have  a  bottomless  capacity  for 
getting  themselves  into  scrapes.  A  Rev.  Dr.  Hodglns  has  been  sum- 
moned by  his  clerk,  "  for  spitting  in  his  face  on  Sunday  evening  just 
outside  the  church  door."  Mr.  Stewart,  a  Liverpool  rector,  is  at  odds 
with  his  vestry  for  putting  up  an  obnoxious  cross,  and  at  the  vestry 
meeting  there  was  almost  a  riot.  The  Vicar  of  Lundulph,  owing  to 
disagreements,  flnds  his  congregation  reduced  to  three,  and  has 
beeji  publicly  told  by  one  of  his  recalcitrant  flock  that  "he  talked 
nonsense,"  whicli  wasn't  a  handsome  thing  for  a  sheep  to  say  to 
bis  shepherd.    When  this  congregation  of  Lundulph  met  on  Easter 


49G 


APl'KNDIX. 


Monday,  there  was  a  row  about  muttois  and  things  in  >ren(M-al,  and 
especially  concorningthe  sucramoutal  wino.  Tho  Vicar  declared  that 
not  onough  had  beon  provided  for  the  celebration  of  tho  Eucharist. 
The  church-\vardon  pointedly  responded  that  as  only  two  persons 
had  communicated  tho  past  year,  and  he  had  sent  a  \vhol«  bottle 
t)  the  vestry,  he  thought  there  must  have  been  unite  enough  and 
to  spare.  The  response  of  the  Vicar  is  not  reported,  but  ha  must 
have  been  in  a  most  unclerical  passion.— CanaJ/a/*  Paper. 


NOTE    XVII. 

ATTACK    UPON   THli    ARISTOCRACY. 

{From  lilt  London  lieehii'e.) 

This  monstrous  evil— which  caps  all  other  social  and  political  evils 
that  afflict  our  country— has  grown  up  and  become  hoary  in  its 
iniquities;  plethoric  with  the  wealth  it  has  unjustly  accumulated; 
and  swollen  out  and  overgrown  with  pride  and  insolent  importance, 
and  no  wonder,  when  wo  consider  that  it  has  fattened  and  battened, 
and  ground  down  and  oppressed  the  people  of  these  realms  lor  eight 
hundred  years  and  upward.  It  had  its  origin— as  must  people  knoiA'- 
in  that  great  buccaneering  raid,  which  William  of  Normandy  made 
upon  this  country  in  lOCG.  aided  by  soldiers  and  priests,  and  a  host  of 
dissipated  adventurers,  which  he  gathered  from  all  parts  of  Europe 
by  his  offers  of  plunder;  and  wlio  were  filled  with  fiery  zeal  for  the 
conQuest  of  our  unhappy  country  by  a  bull  from  the  Pope,  a  conse- 
crated banner,  and  a  ring,  said  to  contain  a  hair  of  Sc.  Peter.  Willi 
this  united  band  of  fighting  adventurers,  priests,  iind  monks, 
William  succeeded  in  overcoming  our  Saxon  ancestors;  and,  after 
having  established  and  consolidated  his  power  by  confiscating, 
pillaging,  burning,  and  destroying  in  all  directions,  he  finally 
parcelled  out  the  land  of  the  country  among  his  rapacious  follow- 
ers, tho  noble-blooded  ancestors  of  our  hereditary  aristocracy.  Not 
that  the  line  of  this  noble  blood  has  been  preserved  unbroken ;  for 
very  ma  ly  families  of  them  have  risen,  and  fallen,  and  sunk  into 
oblivion;  so  that  the  most  of  our  present  nobility  have  been  very 
recent  creations;  yet,  from  this  plundering  origin,  our  hereditary 
aristocracy  sprang.  The  Conqueror,  however,  wanted  power  and 
means  to  sustain  him  in  possession  of  his  throne  and  his  spoils ; 
and  hence,  in  parcelling  out  the  estates  of  the  country,  he  granted 
them  on  feudal  tenure;  that  is.  he  granted  them  conditionally, that 
the  holders  should  pay  him  service,  and  tribute  of  various  kinds, 
such  as  military  service,  or  being  compelled  to  arm  themselves  and 
their  tenantry  in  support  of  the  governiuent,  when  reauested  by 
the  king;  as  also  to  pay  certain  fines  or  sums  of  money,  under  tho 
names  of  aids,  reliefs,  wardships,  etc.,  which  were,  as  Bhickstone 
says,  "in  the  nature  of  a  modern  land-tax."  Tho  money  raised 
from  this  source,  and  from  the  crown  lands,  or  th  estates,  the  king 
kept  for  himself,  constituted  nt  that  time  the  only  revenue  of  the 
kingdom;  for  the  people  then  paid  no  taxes,  they  being  serfs  or 
laborers. 

This,  then,  was  tho  origin  of  our  landed  aristocracy;  men  who 
are  bound  by  their  tenures  to  defend  the  country,  and  to  meet  the 
expenses  of  the  nation,  in  return  for  the  vast  benefits  they  enjoyed: 
that  of  sharing  among  them  tho  greater  i)ortion  of  the  land  of  tha 


APPENDIX. 


497 


or 


country.  They  subseauoutly  succeeded,  however,  in  getting  their 
military  service  commuted  for  money;  but  this,  and  various  other 
payments  they  were  compelled  to  make,  and  continued  to  pay  down 
to  the  time  of  the  restoration  of  Charles  II.,  when  the  Convention 
Parliament  entered  into  an  agreement  with  him,  that  he  should  free 
them  from  all  the  lauded  obligations,  which  they  had  hitherto  paid 
for  their  estates,  and  that  they  would  present  him  and  his  successors 
with  an  Excuse  law.  In  other  words,  that  ho  would  enable  them,  for 
tliis  boon,  to  shift  the  burden  from  their  own  shoulders  on  to  those 
of  the  people.  Having  tlius,  for  their  own  solflsh  ends,  cut  off  the 
principal  source  of  revenue,  and  having  subsequently  cajoled  our 
rulers  out  of  the  chiof  portion  of  the  "rowned  lands,  there  were  no 
means  of  the  carryi'  g  on  of  the  government;  so  that  in  the  reign  of 
William  the  Thiij^'d  they  were  under  the  necessity  of  imposinga  land- 
lax  of  four  shillings  in  the  pound  on  the  full  annual  value  of  land. 
This,  however,  was  too  good  a  thing  to  be  continued,  and  our  aris- 
tocracy now  managed  to  shirk,  or  to  render  it  almost  a  nulity ;  for  in 
1798  they  passed  a  law  declaring  that  "the  land-tax  should  only  bi 
levied  on  the  original  assessment  of  William  the  Third."  So  tha  . 
taking  into  account  the  large  increase  in  the  valuQ  of  the  land,  the 
tax  does  not  now  amount  to  a  farthing  in  the  pound;  for,  if  it  were 
assessed  at  this  present  value,  at  four  shillings  in  the  pound  it  would 
realize  a  sum  of  upwards  of  twenty-flve  millions;  whereas,  the  land- 
tax  raised  in  1868  araountol  to  only  £i ,092. 6'J.).  But  in  tho  interim  the 
Excise  duties,  which  they  imposed  on  the  people,  have  increased 
from  about  a  million  to  upwards  of  twenty  millions,  and  the  customs, 
and  all  other  public  burdens,  to  a  total  of  60i  millions.  With  the 
possession  of  the  land,  they  have  possessed  the  control  over  the 
tenantry,  and  the  power  of  returning  to  what  ought  to  be  the  people's 
house,  tho  majority  of  their  own  tools  and  mouth-pieces,  to  do  their 
blildiag,  auii  to  crush  and  retard  all  measures  made  by  the  friends  of 
th  !  people  in  favor  of  retrenchment  or  reform. 

The  possession  of  this  power  to  pack  the  House  of  Commons,  has 
placed  the  State  also  at  their  disposal,  and  most  of  its  offices  Iiave 
been  lllled  by  our  aristocra:3y  or  their  nominees;  and  fierce  and 
savage  have  been  their  attacks  upon  the  few  outsiders  who  have 
lately  obtained  possession  of  phiL-es  in  the  ministry.  The  Church, 
too,  has  ever  been  a  creature  aad  a  tool  of  their  own.  and  its  bishops 
and  clei'gy,  their  brethren  or  relations,  or  their  own  nominees,  or 
slavish  dependants ;  for,  in  addition  to  the  vast  estates  of  the  Church, 
which,  at  dilTerent  times,  th'>y  have  shared  among  them,  they  have 
now  15,950  Church  livings  to  bestow  on  whom  they  choose,  and  about 
nine  or  ten  millions  of  Church  revenue  todivid  j  between  the  persona 
they  elect,  Tue  cler«y  and  arist'^ra^y  have  always  got  all  the 
cliarities  of  Englaml  under  tlieir  control,  amounting  to  above  nine- 
teen million  sterling.  The  army  and  navy  also,  are  for  the  most 
pari  ruled  and  offlcerei  by  them ;  and  all  efforts  to  reduce  the  enor- 
mous sum  of  about  twsnty-ejght  millions  paid  annually  to  support 
them,  and  strenuously  opposed  by  the  numerous  representatives  of 
these  two  services  foui  d  in  both  Houses  of  rarliament. 

In  faet,  the  aristocracy  have  ruled  our  country  for  centuries ;  have 
divided  all  j)la''fs  of  pr  dlt  or  honor  between  the  two  factions  of  tlieni ; 
have  shared  among  th'Muselves  and  tools  the  greater  portion  of  the 
i-eveuun;  have  warred  a;,'ainMt  freedom  at  home  and  abroad;  have 


498 


APPENDIX. 


ever  been  the  opponents  of  all  measures  for  the  political  and  sociftl 
elevation  of  our  peoplo,  and  have  contracted  an  enormous  debt 
which  now  bows  down  the  industrial  energies,  and  limits  the  trade 
and  commerce  of  the  country.  To  use  the  words  of  v?Toneral  Foy. 
when  he  gave  a  deflnitiou  of  aristocracy  in  the  French  Ohauibers, 
some  years  ago:  "Thjyaro  the  league  and  coalition  of  those  v/ho 
wish  to  consume  without  producing,  live  without  working,  occupy 
hU  public  places,  without  becoming  competent  to  fill  them,  and  sei/.t* 
upon  all  honors  without  meriting  them. ' 

We  ask,  then,  whether  it  is  not  opposed  to  right  and  justice  and  the 
happiness  of  the  nation,  that  an  exclui  ive  and  privileged  few  should 
claim  possession  of  the  whole  land  of  the  country  V— should  have 
the  power  of  preventing  it  from  being  properly  cultivated,  by 
refusing  some  security  or  tenure  ?  should  hold  large  portions  of  it 
waste,  or  convert  it  into  hunting  "  grounds  and  game  "  preserves  ? 
should  have  power  to  clear  it  of  its  human  inhabitants  at  pleasure  ? 
and  make  the  tenantry  that  hold  and  cultivate  It  their  political 
slaves  ? 

We  further  ask  whether  the  principle  of  hereditary  right  is  not  a 
manifest  injustice?  as  it  gives  a  foolish  son  a  right  to  succeed  a  wise 
father,  and  to  thwart  by  his  obstinacy  or  folly  the  most  just  and 
righteous  measures  that  the  best  and  the  wisest  of  our  legislators 
may  propose  for  the  security,  enlightenment,  prosperity,  and  profir- 
ress  of  the  nation. 

If  our  brethren  concur  with  us  in  opinion,  that  our  hereditary 
aristocracy  has  been,  and  continues  to  bo,  a  blight  and  a  curse  upon 
our  country,  is  i"  not  high  time  to  use  every  political  power  they 
possess  to  free  themselves  from  its  withering  influence  ?  Is  it  not 
time  to  meet,  urge,  petition,  and  beseech  our  representatives  to  do 
away  with  the  monstrous  evils,  primogeniture  and  entail,  and  compel 
our  aristocracy  to  do  justice  to  all  their  children  ?  To  limit  by  law 
the  quantity  of  land  thatshouhl  be  held  by  individuals,  and  to  cause 
their  immense  estates  to  be  divided  among  their  children  on  the  death 
of  the  possessors  ?  To  end,  also,  the  slavish  custom  of  the  repre- 
sentatives of  tlie  whole  nation  having  every  measure  of  importance 
for  the  well-being  of  the  country  frustrated  by  a  non-represented 
and  privileged  few,  they  should  enact  that  any  law  passed  twic© 
through  thb  House  of  Commons  should  boeonio  the  law  of  the  land, 
whatever  other  power  in  the  State  may  be  opposed  to  it. 


KXTUACTS  FROM  A  FEfV  OF  THE   C&ITIC IL  N.j 
TIVES  OF"  THE  HEATHBNH  OF  THE  HEATH.' 

The  volume  just  issued  is  eminently  u  bold  book.  It  deals  with 
the  roughest  side  ot  English  life,  and  is  a  work  intended  to  stdke 
hard  blows  at  the  atrocities  ot  the  priesthood.  The  writer  dives  deep 
mo  the  historical  lore  and  tradition  of  early  church  matte,^  a  ,d 
rel,s,ous  porsooutions,  and  weaves  upon  the  thread  of  his  romance 
events,  whrch  speak  but  too  plainly  of  the  coarse  elementof  ZT.h 
Ufe  m  certain  of  tho  uneducated  districts.  The  characters  are 
drawn  with  a  fldelity.  wlueh  extracts  from  English  papers  of  ^ 
recent  date  cempietely  vouch  tor :  the  scenes  are  easily  recogn  .a We 
and,  as  a  book,  showing  a  large  research,  a  careful  handling  o,  a 
delieae  sub,eet.  and  roa^.ning  which  is  more  than  ordinar  ," 
forcible,  tha  book  is  deserving  of  much  attentlo„.-.V.  K  S^Z 

It  is  a  story  written  with  an  object-tho  disonthrallment  of  man- 
kind from  unworthy  usages,  prejudices,  and  beliefs ;  and  like  "Exeter 
Hall."  It  is  likely  to  cause  a  shaking  up  of  dry  bones  in  some  auar- 
tera-Iioston  Herald.  ^ 

Theology  is  generously  discussed  in  its  pages,  but  not  didactically 
or  m  set  phrase;  it  is  done  in   living  dialogue,  by  the  changing 
panorama  or  incidents  in  perpetual  motion,  and  through  the  con 
duct  of  its  most  striking  characters.    We  could  not  pretend  to  .>iv. 
an  outline  of  this  fascinating  romance  in  the  space  to  which  thJ 
present  notice  is  restricted:  suffice  it  to  observe  that  for  all  that  is 
startling  yet  truthful,  radical  and  attractive,  novel  and  wonderful 
powerful  and  noble,  it  is  one  of  those  books  which  are  written  not 
to  die  with  the  single  sensation  it  creates,  but  to  leave  an  im  pression 
on  the  mind  that  will  prove  indelible  and  lasting.-^anue/-  of  Light 
Boston. 

Mr.  McDonnell's  new  book.  "  The  Heathens  of  the  Heath,"  is  mor,^ 
Interesting,  if  anything,  than  his  excellent  anti-theological  romance 

Exeter  Hall."  It  is  larger  than  that,  and  has  more  incident. -Z^.ces- 
tiuator,  licstou. 


The  book  is  tha  work  of  a  master-hand,  and  iii  whatever  li^htit  U 
viewed,  all  must  admit  it  is  one  of  sroat  power  and  interest.— 
I'idianapolis  Journal. 

This  is  a  theological  romance,  free  from  roliirious  dullness,  replete 
with  tact  and  argument,  and  containing  many  thrilling  and  impress- 
ive passaijes.  Its  characters  are  woll-concoivod  and  sketched,  and 
the  plot  is  developed  with  much  dramatic  power.—  The  Word, 
Princeton,  Mass. 

The  author's  descriptions  are  vivid  and  pathetic.  He  has  depicted 
the  wretched  condition  of  the  poorer  classes  in  t!ie  "  Black  Country." 
and  o.her  parts  of  England,  very  plainly,  and  we  are  inclined  to 
believe,  without  exaggeration.  .  .  .  The  author  displays  great 
research  in  the  argumentative  portion  of  the  work  which  commends 
itself  alike  to  the  orthodox,  the  liberal,  and  the  investigator  .  .  . 
The  style  of  the  volume  is  pleasing  and  natural— the  interest  is  well 
sustained  from  first  to  last,  and  the  plot  is  ingeniously  worked  out.— 
National,  Toronto,  Canada. 

Romance  and  reason  are  blended  throughout  with  consummate 
skill,  gliding  almost  imperceptibly  into  each  other  to  form  a  whole, 
and  admirably  calculated  to  lure  the  reader  with  the  charms  of  tho 
one  into  the  bonds  of  the  other.  .  .  .  Tho  main  plot  is  well  worked 
up,  preserving  its  interest  to  the  last;  but  remark  what  may  bo  called 
the  minor  plots.  Look  at  the  simple  but  affectin;^  lives  of  Stephen 
and  Sarah,  whose  earthly  happiness  rural  superstition  has  blighted ; 
look  at  the  romantic  fate  of  Zingari  and  Adrian ;  look  at  the  heart- 
moving  story  of  Agnes ;  those,  and  particularly  tho  last—the  brightesi' 
gem  in  tho  author's  collection— claim  our  undivided  attention,  and 
we  part  from  them  with  the  feeling  that  to  a  master's  hand  they 
owe  their  naturalness,  their  perfection,  and  their  unallected 
\iidi\)Xv.— Extract  frQ)ii  a  critical  reriew. 


